Highwing: A Sparra's Tale
by Highwing
Summary: A baby chick falls, and Redwall's history is forever changed.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Redwall Abbey was celebrating the Winter of the Long Icicles. While the ground as yet lay free of snow, frozen rains and early season cold had conspired to trim the Abbey eaves with downward-pointing spears of ice and to decorate the bare limbs of the orchard trees with countless crystal daggers.

Three days had passed since the Nameday feast, at which Abbot Arlyn had officially given this winter the name by which it would be known down through the future annals of Redwall history. The Abbeydwellers had celebrated the occasion with their usual good food, good drink and good cheer. The boisterous laughter and spirited singing was now faded away into memory, and the Redwallers hunkered down to weather what promised to be a long season of short and dreary days.

Geoff and Vanessa, two young novice mice of the order, had had all they could stand of being cooped up indoors, even in so spacious a dwelling as their grand Abbey, and decided to go exploring out on the grounds. Vanessa, who did not normally wear shoes of any kind in the warmer seasons, borrowed a pair of sandals from old Sister Marisol the Infirmary keeper to spare her footpaws on the hard-frozen lawns and paths. Thus outfitted, she and Geoff ventured forth, leaving behind the crackling hearth fire of Cavern Hole in favor of the wide winter sky of steely gray.

No sooner had the two friends crunched their way a dozen paces across the frosty lawns than they began to question the wisdom of their plan. The bitter cold and frigid breeze nipped at ears, nose, toes and tail, and stole up under their habits to chill them up to their waists. Not even the hushed beauty of nature's splendid wintry display could distract them from their discomfort.

"What were we thinking?" Vanessa chattered, her breath puffing out white before her. "I'm freezing!"

"We?" Geoff said indignantly. "It was your idea to come out here, remember?"

Vanessa ignored him. "The ice on the pond is too thin to go sliding on it yet, but it's too cold for much of anything else." She stamped her feet hard as she trudged along. "And these sandals are just about useless - I'm getting frozen toes for sure!"

"Yeah," Geoff agreed. "I could sure go for a nice pair of boots right now myself."

Vanessa arched an eyebrow. "Fur lined, no doubt. And what creature, pray tell, would you see slain to provide you that comfort?"

"Um, er ... " Geoff stammered. Every creature who dwelt within the Abbey - mouse or mole, squirrel or otter, hedgehog or badger - stringently observed the ways of Redwall, which meant doing harm to nobeast, giving food and sanctuary to those in need, healing the sick and injured, and fighting only in defense of their home. This was how it had always been, and the idea of killing another creature to make an article of clothing was totally against everything Redwall stood for. Even as an offpaw joke, it was somewhat unsettling.

Chagrined, Geoff tried to change the subject, yanking the cowl of his habit forward over his head. "I guess we can always pull up our hoods ... at least that'll keep our ears warm, even if it does make us look like a couple of old monks!"

Vanessa blew on her paws, then rubbed at her nose, leaving her own hood down for the moment. The sound of voices and commotion of movement drew her attention to the top of the high outer wall that protected the Abbey and its grounds from raiders and invaders. High up on the south ramparts, Alexander the squirrel and Montybank the otter kibbitzed and gamboled playfully with each other. Alex and Monty were young adult creatures, only a few seasons older than Geoff and Vanessa, and the four of them were the closest of friends.

"Look at them!" Vanessa puffed in exasperation. "Fooling about up in the teeth of the wind, in nothing but sleeveless jerkins, enjoying themselves like it was a summer's day!"

"Well," Geoff ventured from the recesses of his hood, "squirrels do grow their coats good and thick for the winter, and otters ... well, otters will always be otters, and nothing much bothers our thicktailed friends. Shouldn't be surprised if they try to take a swim in our icy pond before the day's out!"

Monty took a break from his shenanigans with Alex to wave and call down to the two mice. "Hallo, Nessie! Hey there, Pinky, is that you under that monk's getup?"

Geoff self-consciously threw a paw up to his face. "Ooo, I hate it when they call me that!" He had an exceptionally pink nose, and had yet to escape his dreaded childhood nickname.

"Aren't you two cold up there?" Vanessa yelled up at them.

Monty laughed this off. "Cold? Wot's cold?"

"You just gotta keep movin', Nessa," Alex added, "then you won't even notice it!" With that, squirrel and otter resumed their play, chasing each other along the battlements toward the east wall.

"What a pair of clowns!" Geoff observed. "But I don't feel like running along the walltop. Whatcha say, Nessa - wanna head back inside?"

In spite of the chill, Vanessa was still reluctant to relinquish her freedom just yet. "Let's at least get in one complete lap around the Abbey before we do. Otherwise, I'll go stir crazy!"

"I know what you mean." Geoff pointed. "The wind seems to be coming mostly out of the east. Maybe if we head over to the base of the east wall, it won't be so bad there."

"Good thinking." Vanessa finally drew up her own hood and stomped off in the direction Geoff had indicated.

"That's what I'm here for," Geoff shrugged, falling into step behind her.

00000000000

The shelter of the high wall provided some relief, but not much. If anything, the gloom of the day was heightened by the wall towering over them. The red sandstone of the Abbey and its structures, which glowed with a rosy warmth in the full light of the sun, was now muted to a dull red that seemed as cold and remote as the weather itself. It was almost hard to believe, looking at it from the outside, that the foreboding edifice contained such warmth and comradeship within its winter-dusky shell.

As the two mice wandered through the gardens - so green and vibrant in other seasons but now bare and desolate - Vanessa gave out a low groan of defeat. "Arrgh! I give up! I'd rather be shut in where it's warm and cozy than out here where it's so dreary and depressing!"

"Not to mention cold," Geoff put in, almost tripping over a protruding root. "So, back to the Abbey?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Vanessa sighed in resignation.

"Well, at least we got to stretch our legs a little bit, and get some fresh air. But I think I'll need until suppertime to get warmed up again." Spying an unused bucket lying along the side of the garden path, Geoff stooped down to grab it. "Oo, that reminds me - Brother Clyde wanted me to snap off some icicles from the lower orchard branches and bring them in to be melted for cooking water. Come on, Nessa - the sooner we get finished with that, the sooner we can be back down in Cavern Hole, thawing out our footpaws by the fire!"

"Yes, I'll admit that's starting to sound good to me ... even if we do have to share the hearth with all those snoring shrews!" Vanessa was referring to the Guosim - the Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower - who always wintered at the Abbey. The Guosim were old friends and allies of Redwall, who spent the warmer months wandering the length and breadth of Mossflower Woods, the forestlands which surrounded the Abbey. The shrews numbered several hundred - far too many to be assigned individual beds and dorm rooms - so when they came to winter at Redwall they settled down in the lower gathering hall of Cavern Hole beneath Great Hall, sleeping out on the open floor on rush mats and blankets as they did in the woods. Modesty was never a problem for the shrewfolk ... but their sonorous snores could be for the Redwallers who had to share Cavern Hole with them.

Vanessa started after Geoff toward the orchard, when a flurry of motion caught her eye. It came from high overhead - not in the direction of the outer wall, where Montybank and Alexander were still cutting up, but off to her other side, from the main Abbey building itself. Glancing skyward, she was just in time to see an erratic bundle of flailing feathers and talons come tumbling toward the hard ground. Vanessa gasped as it crashed into a low pine bush, then rolled out onto the frozen lawn.

"Geoff, look! A bird just fell from the high Abbey roof!"

The male mouse followed her gaze and her pointing paw. "Fell, you say? That's very odd. You don't usually think of flying creatures as falling - hey, where are you going?"

The mousemaid was already racing across the ground toward the stricken bird. "It may be hurt! We must try to help it!"

"Vanessa, stay back! Birds can be dangerous!"

But Vanessa wasn't listening, running to the rescue of the downed creature so quickly that her hood was whipped back from her head. Geoff stood watching her for a few moments in uncertainty, then let the bucket slip from his paw and chased after her.

"Oh, look, it's just a baby!" Vanessa declared as Geoff drew up alongside her, panting heavily. "A baby sparrow chick! Why, I bet I could pick it up and cradle it!"

"I wouldn't try it," Geoff said sternly. "Looks like it's injured - it would probably try to peck out your eyes."

Vanessa stooped down to get a better look at the sparrow. Bright, sharp eyes returned her gaze, while the tiny beak opened and closed in confusion. It was indeed a very young bird, only a fraction of her size and its true feathers only just starting to grow out from its layer of new-hatched fuzzy down. The way it was gawkily sprawled on the lawn, it was impossible to tell at first glance whether it truly might be injured or was merely dazed from the impact.

That question was resolved as the sparrow chick tried to fully right itself, then cried out in pain. Vanessa and Geoff both shrank back, not just from the tortured cry but also from the sight of the mangled wing which came into view.

"Oh, how horrible!" Vanessa clapped her paws to the side of her face. "Look at its poor wing!"

Geoff nodded gravely. "I think one of its legs might be broken too."

"We've got to get it up to the Infirmary," Vanessa decided.

"Now, Nessa, I know how you've got ambitions to take over from Sister Marisol as Infirmary keeper someday, and I hate to see anybeast suffer as much as you do. But we can't take this in. We're not set up to look after a bird."

"It'll die if we leave it out here!" Vanessa protested. "Sister Marisol and I will figure out some way to nurse it back to health. I'm sure we can!"

"I don't know - Nessa, look out!"

Geoff threw himself on top of Vanessa. They hit the ground together, just in time to avoid the stabbing beak and raking claws of the full-grown male sparrow who swooped over them, cawing and shrieking loudly. The two mice looked up to see their would-be attacker flutter to a landing alongside the wounded chick. Three other sparrows, burly males all, joined the first, alighting in a rough circle around the baby bird. The leader squawked again in Geoff and Vanessa's direction, while its trio of companions glared belligerently at the two young novices.

Geoff helped Vanessa to her feet, gently urging her back away from the knot of winged creatures. "Let's give them plenty of room," he whispered. "We don't want them to think we're threatening their youngster. This is out of our paws now - they'll take care of their own."

"But, what if they can't?" Vanessa asked. "I'm sure they can't be as skilled in the healing arts as Sister Marisol is. That poor thing is pretty badly injured, Geoff."

He eyed the four bigger sparrows warily. "Do you want to try telling them that?"

The adult birds had turned their attention to the wounded fledgling. Vanessa held her breath as she waited to see how they would minister to its injuries.

The leader gave a single commanding cry, and then, to Vanessa's horror, they all jumped at the helpless chick, harrying it with bill and talon amidst chants of, "Killet! Killet!"

"No!" Vanessa screamed, and Geoff was utterly helpless to prevent her from rushing forward into the fray.

For a mousemaid of her rather diminutive stature, Vanessa was nobeast to be trifled with. Using her body as a weapon, she slammed into the nearest sparrow, knocking it away from its young victim, then threw herself at another. Confused by this unexpected onslaught, the four attackers momentarily broke off their assault on the chick, which now sat screaming piteously among them, its eyes tightly shut. Vanessa took advantage of this lull to slip off one sandal and brandish it like a short club to hold off the hostile birds.

Geoff took a step forward, then froze. He knew he was no fighter, and would be of no help to Vanessa whatsoever. Maybe if he hadn't dropped the pail back in the gardens, he might have had the courage to wade into the melee, swinging it at the sparrows' heads. As it was, unarmed and untrained in the ways of fighting, he could only stand there and watch, hoping that these birds would not press an attack against a mouse of the Redwall order.

His hopes were immediately dashed. The leader of the sparrows flew at Vanessa, its talons outstretched, and knocked her onto her back before she could swat it with her sandal. The bird landed atop her, pinning her down against the cold ground. Vanessa instinctively threw her paws over her face to protect her eyes, while her attacker stabbed viciously at her chest with its sharp beak.

Heart in his mouth, Geoff turned to run for help from inside the Abbey -

- and nearly collided with Montybank, who was hurrying to join the battle.

"Gangway, Geoff matey!" the otter roared, shoving past his flustered mouse friend. "Stan' clear, an' I'll handle this from 'ere!"

The brawny otter bounded into the fray, spinning around as he did so. One smack of his thick tail sent the sparrow atop Vanessa tumbling beak over tailfeathers away from her. Monty hefted a stout quarterstaff, braining two of the other birds before they were convinced to break off their attack. Holding them at bay, Monty knelt down alongside Vanessa to protect her, should they regather their courage and try for another assault.

Vanessa took her paws away from her eyes and looked up. "Monty! Thank goodness! They're trying to kill that chick! Don't let them hurt it anymore!"

Montybank glanced down at her. The habit fabric below Vanessa's right shoulder was rent and torn, and blood was beginning to stain the edges of the hole. "Wallop me rudder, Nessie, yore wounded!"

"Never mind me, I'll be all right," Vanessa said bravely as Geoff squatted down on her other side. "Just see to that helpless little bird!"

"Sorry, Ness." Monty stayed firmly beside her. "First thing's first, an' that means looking after me favorite mousemaid bucko. Alex went to get help ... in a few shakes, there'll be more angry Redwallers out here than these nasty featherbags c'n shake a wing at. You can betcher they'll make a quick exit if they knows wot's good fer 'em. Then we'll look after yore new liddle bird friend."

The leader sparrow hopped closer to them, chest puffed out menacingly, its three companions regrouped at his side in a show of force. "Me Grym Sparra! Me kill you!"

"Not t'day, birdbrain." Monty's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Bring it on, if'n you dare, an' I'll give you twice th' drubbin' I gave yer already!"

The sparrow Grym seemed about to take Montybank up on his challenge, when the sound of approaching voices drew his attention. A large group of Abbeybeasts, including a score of the Guosims shrews with shortswords drawn, came rushing across the Abbey grounds toward the scene of the confrontation, having been alerted by Alexander. Old Abbot Arlyn was out in front, but it was the grim-faced squirrels, shrews and otters following hot on the heels of the venerable old mouse - all strong beasts who were not about to shrink from a fight - who made Grym and his bullies think twice. And the sight of Maura, the hulking badger Mother of Redwall, bringing up the rear did little to improve the sparrows' courage.

Grym clacked his beak at Montybank and the two mice, careful to stay out of range of the otter's ash stave. "Me remember you, waterdog worm! You watchout, someday I getcher good!"

"Likewise, birdbag," Monty growled, but Grym and the others had already taken flight, winging their way back up to the high attic roofspaces of the Abbey where only birds could go.

Now that the immediate danger was past and help had arrived, Monty scooted aside to make room for the Abbot to kneel down to examine Vanessa. "She's sore wounded, sir."

"Gracious, indeed she is!" Abbot Arlyn agreed upon first glance. "We must get this child up to the Infirmary at once!"

Vanessa waved aside her Father Abbot's concern for her, just as she had with Monty and Geoff. "Never mind about me, sir. That poor little bird needs help more than I do. Please ... see to ... the baby chick ... "

Vanessa's eyelids fluttered, then she fell backwards, unconscious.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

When she came to, Vanessa found herself lying in bed in the Abbey Infirmary, with Sister Marisol tending her wound and what seemed half of Redwall gathered around her. She winced as Marisol swabbed out her injury with a hot towel.

"Well, well! Look who's decided to rejoin the land of the living!" the kindly old healer mouse smiled. "You are one lucky mousemaid, my little lady. That ruffian's beak went right into you like a spearhead. A little bit lower and it might have pierced your lung. You could have died. Or, if he'd gone for your eyes, you could be blind right now."

"I covered up my face as soon as he attacked me," Vanessa said, almost absently. "He couldn't have blinded me. But ... what about the wounded chick? Did you rescue it? Is it all right?"

Abbot Arlyn laid a gentle but firm restraining paw on her uninjured shoulder, fearful that she might try to rise from her sickbed to seek out the baby bird. "There, there, my child, don't fret yourself. With so many caring and able paws at Redwall these days, do you really think we'd abandon a young and helpless creature in distress to fend for itself?" He pointed across the room to where two beds had been pushed aside and blankets laid on the floor to create a soft nest of sorts for the baby sparrow. "We didn't think it would be a good idea to to put it in a bed, since birds aren't accustomed to that sort of thing. It seems to have settled down for now, but we think it will live ... thanks to you."

"And you'll live," Sister Marisol said to Vanessa, "thanks to Montybank here." The healer mouse cast an admiring glance toward the young otter. "Be thankful you have such a brave friend."

Monty waved the praise aside. "Nary 'alf so brave as Nessie t'was 'erself. Never seen anybeast put itself in such danger fer th' sake of another."

"A regular little warriormaid we've got here," Brother Trevor, the Abbey Recorder and historian mouse, joked from behind the Abbot. "We might have to start calling you Mariel!" Several of the others chuckled at this reference to a fighting mousemaid from Redwall's early history.

Vanessa strained to see past all her caregivers and wellwishers to get a better look at the creature she'd risked her life to save. "Can I go see it?"

"Absolutely not," Sister Marisol said with authority. "You're not to leave this bed until I say so, and that won't be for a full day at least." She finished cleansing Vanessa's shoulder wound, putting aside the bloody cloths and basin of warm water. "Now then, we'll just slap a herbal poultice over this to keep off infection and speed up the healing, then bind it in place, some bandage wrappings ... hmm, I think I'll also put your right paw in a sling, so that when you do start moving around again, you won't put too much strain on the shoulder area. Yes, that should do it. Give it a few days, and you should be good as new!"

Vanessa bit her tongue and swallowed any further protest, forcing herself to hold still while Sister Marisol finished treating her. After all, she hoped to be Infirmary keeper herself someday, and she knew the value of a cooperative patient. She'd hardly be able to fairly chastise any future charges of hers for being unruly if she didn't set a good example right here and now.

Marisol glanced up at the many faces of the creatures crowding the room. "Okay, now, I'm sure Abbot Arlyn and Vanessa both appreciate everybeast's concern and thank you all for coming up to see how she's doing, but I need space for my work here. Abbot, if you could please have everyone leave who isn't part of my staff? Once we get this young mousemaid all patched up, she's going to need her rest, and we can't have this crowd here then."

"A very good idea, Sister Marisol." Arlyn turned to address all the wellwishers. "We've all seen that Vanessa is going to be just fine, and given her our regards. Let's leave her alone now, and head back down to Cavern Hole. She's in very capable paws here, and we'll only be in the way."

Montybank raised a flipper. "Beggin' yer pardon, marm," the young otter said to Marisol, "but may'aps I c'd stay? I'm sure Nessie'd like a close friend by 'er side, wouldn't ya, Ness?"

"Me, too," Geoff voiced up.

"And me," Alexander put in.

"Wellll ... all right. But just the three of you," Marisol said, seeing the hopeful look on Vanessa's face. "But expect to lend a paw when I say so. No idlers in my Infirmary!"

"Thank you," Geoff, Alexander and Monty said together.

"I'd also like Brother Trevor to stay too, please," Vanessa requested.

The historian mouse came closer to her bedside. "I'd be happy to, Vanessa. If Sister Marisol says it's okay. But ... why me?"

"I have some questions," Vanessa said. "And I think you'd be the best one to answer them."

00000000000

Once Sister Marisol was finished getting Vanessa's wound properly bandaged and her paw slung, the old healer mouse turned her attention to the baby sparrow. While she and her helpers tended to the bird, Vanessa lay back on her propped pillows and had Brother Trevor tell her all about the creatures who dwelt in Redwall's roof spaces.

The Abbey historian sat on the edge of the bed alongside hers, while Geoff, Montybank and Alexander gathered around closely; they were as eager to hear what Trevor had to say as Vanessa was.

"The sparrows, or Sparra as they are more formally known, have inhabited Redwall's high loft almost from the time our Abbey was founded," Trevor began. "Other kinds of birds have lived there from time to time, occasionally clashing with the Sparra and driving them out. But always the sparrows return to reclaim their home. They are as much a part of Redwall as we are."

Alexander scowled. "Why do we let such vicious and dangerous creatures live in our home?"

"Well," Trevor answered, "the way Redwall was built, there's no stairway or ladder up to the very highest attic spaces. That means there's no way for us ground-living creatures to get up there from inside the Abbey, although a very brave squirrel climber such as yourself, Alexander, might be able to climb up there from the outside. For the most part, however, our roofspaces are the domain of winged creatures alone.

"But the Sparra have not always been unfriendly toward the mice of Redwall. In fact, long ago in the time of Matthias the Warrior and his son Mattimeo, there was great friendship between us, and all of Redwall was united. Sparra and Redwallers fought side by side in several wars to protect our Abbey against those who would enslave us all. To the best of my knowledge they still, to this day, refer to their roofspace home as Warbeak Loft, in honor of a Sparra queen who befriended Matthias and fell in battle helping to save young Mattimeo from slavers - ah, that's a story worth the telling!"

Trevor shrugged sadly. "But alas, those days are long past. It has been many generations since we last had any true friendship or alliance with the Sparra. They are very flighty creatures, if you'll pardon the pun, aggressive and quick of temper. Once upon a time, they were the valued allies of Redwall. But those same qualities that make them valued allies also make them terrible enemies. Nowadays, we leave each other alone as much as possible, and let one another go about our own business. They have the roofspaces to call home and all of Mossflower Woods in which to forage, and we have all the rest of the Abbey. It is an arrangement that seems to work - " he cast a glance at Vanessa's bandaged shoulder, " - most of the time, anyway."

Vanessa asked, "Do you suppose we and the Sparra might become friends again someday?"

"It is possible," Trevor replied, "although if such a thing should come to pass, it would have to happen in its own time, and in its own way."

"Pfaw!" Monty puffed out his whiskers. "Th' way those nastybeaks ganged up on pore Nessie 'ere, I don't reckon that we'll see peace with 'em in our days!"

A pained and frantic squawk from across the Infirmary made them all glance over to where Sister Marisol and her helpers were doing their best to treat the baby sparrow's injuries. It looked like they had their paws full.

"Why do you suppose they were trying to kill it?" Geoff wondered. "It's just a little baby bird, absolutely harmless."

"I can only guess," said Brother Trevor, "but I would imagine that once they saw how badly it had been injured in the fall, their customs called for it to be killed in order to end its suffering."

The four youngbeasts were horrified. "That's barbaric!" Vanessa cried.

"Only savages would treat their own young like that," Alexander agreed.

Trevor held up a paw. "Let us not judge them too harshly. Remember, not all creatures are skilled in the healing arts. To the Sparra, those injuries may well have been beyond their ability to mend. Vanessa just happened to be in the right place at the right time to intervene on the chick's behalf. Now, instead of death, that Sparra will have another chance at life."

"Oh, I do hope so," said Vanessa. "Do you think Sister Marisol will be able to cure the poor thing?"

"If anybeast can, it will be our good Sister," Trevor answered. "It has been several generations since Redwall was last graced with a healer of Marisol's talents. All we can do is wait and see ... "

And so they did, huddled in the scant warmth of Vanessa's bedside lamp while the gray day faded to early winter twilight outside and the healer of Redwall Abbey struggled and strove to repair the unfortunate young creature who'd fallen from their roof.

00000000000

It was full night by the time Sister Marisol was finished with the chick. Seeing that her other patient was still wide awake in her bed and eagerly awaiting an assessment of the baby Sparra's condition, Marisol padded over to Vanessa's bedside to give the young mousemaid a report.

"The leg was only sprained, thank goodness, and not fully broken," the old healer said. "Don't know what I would have done if it had been a break - birds are so fidgety by nature, I don't think I'd have been able to settle it down enough for the bone to mend and knit properly. Fortunately, that wasn't a concern ...

"The wing, on the other paw, was quite another matter. It was definitely broken, in two different places. I set the bones and splinted the wing as best I could, but I'll be the first to admit that I have almost no experience treating the ills of the feathered folk. With luck, it may someday be able to fly, but I'm not optimistic. Those were messy breaks, and even if they knit, the shape of the wing might be affected. Only time will tell."

"The important thing is that you saved it," Vanessa said.

"Although," added Geoff, "if it's not able to fly anymore, it will never be able to rejoin its own kind up in the roof spaces. It will have to live the rest of its life down here, with us."

"I'm sure Nessa wouldn't mind that too much," Alexander kidded. "I think she's about ready to adopt that baby bird for her own child!"

Sister Marisol's face grew grave. "I'm afraid that's not the only reason it will probably have to stay down here. I wasn't sure whether I should tell you this, Vanessa, but you saved that bird's life at the risk of your own, so I suppose you have the right to know. I may not be an expert with birds, but there are some things that would be obvious to any healer. That sparrow most probably did sprain its leg when it hit the ground, but its wing wasn't broken by any fall, or I'm an otter!"

"What do you mean?" asked Vanessa.

"The pattern of the breaks was all wrong," Marisol explained, "and besides, there were beak marks over the wound."

The four youngbeasts gasped as one. "You don't mean ... "

Marisol nodded. "My guess is, that chick's wing was broken before it ever fell from the roof ... and it was done by those same bullies who flew down after it. They must have been trying to finish off what they started."

"You think they pushed it off intentionally?" Trevor asked.

"Either that, or it fell in the panic of trying to escape their attack."

"But, it's just a liddle bird!" Montybank protested. "Wot could it've done to make them ruffians wanna 'urt it?"

"Yeah," Geoff put in, "we thought maybe they were trying to kill it because it was injured beyond hope. But if they're the ones who injured it in the first place ... "

"The savage brutes!" Alex spat.

Brother Trevor sighed sadly. "We can only guess what plots and intrigues go on in the court of the Sparra. This may have been part of some family feud, or a simple act of mindless cruelty. We may never know for certain. But I think it's safe to say that Matthias and Mattimeo would be ashamed of such behavior from their onetime allies. The Sparra have fallen far indeed since those long bygone days, if this is how they act toward one of their own, much less a Redwall mousemaid."

Vanessa craned her neck to look toward the sparrow chick where it sat on the floor upon its bed of rumpled blankets. "Do you suppose it's all right to move it, Sister Marisol?"

"Move it? Whatever for?"

"Well, it looks so scared and lonely all the way over there in the corner. I really think it ought to have somebeast close by to comfort it during the night. And since you've expressly forbidden me from getting up out of my bed, the only way we can be near each other is if you carry it over and bed it down next to me."

Marisol was skeptical. ""I think it needs rest and solitude more than a friendly voice. We don't want to do anything that might disturb it."

Montybank spoke up on Vanessa's behalf. "I dunno, Sister. If'n you was an injured baby beast all alone 'mongst strangers, an' yore own kin 'ad just tried t' slay you, wouldn't you kinda like to 'ave a friendly face 'n' kindly voice t' soothe over yore fears?"

"I'm sure it would help," said Vanessa. "Even if it's too young to understand my words, it could tell from the tone of my voice that I'm a friend. Let's face it, the poor thing won't heal very well if it wakes up from a nightmare and flaps around on that wing you've just spent all afternoon splinting up."

Marisol mulled it over. "Very well. But you're in better shape to move than that chick is. If you promise to be very careful, I'll let you move to another bed over there so you can sleep near it."

"Oh, thank you!" Vanessa's face lit up.

The old healer pulled back Vanessa's covers and supervised while Monty and Alex helped their mousemaid friend over to the bed nearest the Sparra chick. Wearing nothing but sling and bandages, Vanessa shivered a bit as she crossed the chilly stone floor. Noticing this, Marisol stripped the warm bedclothes off her patient's now-vacant bed and carried them over to the new one. "Here, let me make this up for you, so you won't be getting between cold sheets. You can use both blankets once you're tucked in - it does get rather drafty up here on such cold winter nights. Tomorrow, you can move back down to the warmth of Cavern Hole."

Vanessa stood gazing down at the Sparra chick; it returned her gaze with clear black eyes. She saw that it was shaking just as she was, but whether it was with cold or nervousness she couldn't tell. The baby creature certainly didn't seem fearful of her. Playing a hunch, she reached over to where Sister Marisol was about to put her warm blanket on the new bed and took it from the old healer mouse. "Here, let me have that a moment, please. I want to try something."

Marisol relinquished the blanket. Vanessa knelt down to the sparrow and tried to cover it as if with a shawl. Having the free full use of only one paw made the task awkward, and the chick fidgeted and sought to shrug off the blanket.

"I'm afraid you're wasting your time," Marisol told her. "We tried covering it before, but it won't sit still for it. I guess birds don't like to be covered up with anything."

"But it looks cold." Vanessa started cooing to the chick in a soothing tone, gently stroking the top of its beak. "There there, don't be afraid, nobeast's going to hurt you. We're all your friends here, we only want to help get you better and make you feel safe and comfortable. Please let me put this nice, soft, warm blanket around you. You don't want to be cold, do you? No, of course you don't. So just sit still, that's a good little Sparra, and I'll get you all cozy and toasty."

The tone of her soft voice and the comforting pawstrokes upon its bill totally lulled the baby sparrow. Vanessa was now able to pull the blanket completely around the bird, tucking the loose ends and edges in to make a tentlike cloak over the chick, splinted wing and all. When she was done, the sparrow sat still and peaceful, leaving the blanket in place. It no longer appeared to be quivering. Opening its beak, it let out a single mellow and contented chirp.

"Well, I'll be ... " Sister Marisol was almost at a loss for words. "Vanessa, you are a miracle worker!"

"Shh ... not so loud, Sister Marisol. We don't want to startle it." Vanessa softly patted the chick's head. "It trusts me now, but I don't know if anybeast else should come near it for awhile."

The Infirmary keeper wasn't accustomed to being put in her place by one of her own patients, and wasn't about to set a precedent, not even for one who'd comforted and quieted a troubled creature that nobeast else could soothe.

"Well, you've taken care of that problem," Marisol remarked, "and all it cost you was your own warm blanket. So these chilly ones will have to do. Into bed now, Vanessa. You still have some healing to do yourself. Come along - you'll still be close enough to your new friend that you'll practically be able to reach out and touch him from your bed, so you'll have no excuse for not staying put. I'll have Friar Hugh send up a nice dinner tray, and then I want you to get some sleep ... and I'll brook no arguments!"

"Okay." Giving the sparrow chick one last pat on the head, Vanessa went over to her own fresh-made bed, sat down and swung her legs up and under the covers. Monty and Alex helped pull the blanket up over her.

Sister Marisol stroked her whiskers thoughtfully. "Hmmm ... perhaps I should get you a nightshirt to wear. Although I'm not sure how we'd get it on over your sling ... "

"Oh, I'll be fine," Vanessa assured the older mouse, snuggling down into her bed in an exaggerated manner as if to prove her point. "Just throw an extra blanket on top of me from one of the other beds, and I'll be set for the night."

"If you're sure ... "

Montybank gave Marisol a conspiratorial nudge with his elbow. "Works in yore favor, Sister, if'n bedrest is wotcha want from this mousemaid. She's not very likely to get up an' go cavorting about th' place in the buff, eh?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The following day Vanessa was allowed to leave the Infirmary, although Sister Marisol kept the sling on just to be cautious. Abbot Arlyn formally excused Vanessa from all regular chores for one week, partly due to her injury and partly as a reward for her heroism and selfless valor in coming to the Sparra chick's aid. He said it was the greatest demonstration of all the ideals Redwall stood for that he had seen in many a season, and she was to be highly praised for her courage.

Little did Vanessa know, her true reward was still to come, for the Abbot and the Friar began making preparations for a feast several days hence, to be held in the mousemaid's honor. All in secret, of course. Surprise feasts were the very best kind.

It wasn't at all difficult to keep Vanessa in the dark about the celebration, for her thoughts and attention were all on her adopted sparrow. The day after its rescue, she was constantly making trips up to the Infirmary to spend time with the convalescing baby bird, to the point where Sister Marisol had to order her to stop climbing the stairs so much. Vanessa wanted to move the chick down to Cavern Hole with everybeast else, where it would be easier to keep the young creature warm and she could attend him at all times, but Marisol did not think he should be moved just yet.

By the second day, Sister Marisol was given no choice on where to keep the Sparra; when Vanessa went to leave the Infirmary after her first visit of the morning, the sparrow hopped up onto his talons and waddled after her, his splinted wing causing him to bob from side to side as he walked. Vanessa and Marisol both tried to make the chick stay put, but their efforts were in vain. Every time they thought they had him settled back down onto his nest of blankets to stay, up he would spring again the moment Vanessa headed for the door. It was quite clear that the baby bird had no intention of becoming separated from his savior and new friend.

"Oh, dear," Vanessa fretted, "what now?"

"Well, you wanted to take him down to Cavern Hole with you ... looks like that's going to happen now whether we want it to or not. At least that sprained leg seems to be all better now. Goodness, I've never seen a creature so hopped-up and full of energy!"

Vanessa brightened. "Oh, can he really come with me?"

"His appetite's been hearty this past day and a half, and that's an important indicator of health in any young creature. For awhile, I thought he was going to scoff down all the bread Friar Hugh could bake! But that wing still worries me a bit. We don't want him to be too active just yet, and that splint might make it hard for him to negotiate the stairs. Maybe if you and I help him, we can get him down to Great Hall all right."

Sister Marisol had removed Vanessa's sling the night before, so the mousemaid had both paws free. Working together, the two mice got the eager chick out through the Infirmary doorway and then trippingly down the stairway to Great Hall, one bouncing and lopsided step at a time. The baby bird seemed to think it was all great fun, and was still most enthusiastic by the time they reached the bottom step. From there, it was just another seven straight and wide steps to get down into Cavern Hole from Great Hall; tackling that short flight was like a picnic after the long spiral steps down from the Infirmary floor. The sparrow seemed almost disappointed by the lack of challenge.

Nor was he thrown off by the sheer number of animals congregated down in Cavern Hole. Nearly all the Guosim shrews were there, along with a great many of the Redwallers, sitting or lying about singing songs, telling jokes and stories, or just enjoying each other's company. Perhaps the Sparra identified these as his rescuers, since shrews and squirrels and otters had all been among the group summoned by Alexander to help Vanessa. In any event, he seemed quite at ease as he was led amongst them.

The only moment of difficulty came at the blazing hearth. Shrews and moles cleared a space for Vanessa and the bird to sit by the fire. But fire was a thing in which the winged folk had no skill or lore, and the chick at first showed distress at approaching the blaze this closely.

"Oh, dear," Sister Marisol declared, "the poor thing's probably never seen fire before!"

Vanessa lowered herself down onto the smooth warm flagstones, and patted the empty spot beside her invitingly. "Come on, it's all right," she cooed to the Sparra. "Nothing's going to hurt you. Don't be a silly bird. Plop yourself down here where it's nice and warm. Come, come, it's perfectly safe."

Lulled and soothed by Vanessa's tone, the chick stepped hesitantly over to her. He gave the dancing flames one more suspicious glance, then settled onto his tailfeathers at Vanessa's side, chirping questioningly. The mousemaid put a paw around his neck to comfort him. The bird gave another chirp, this one full of contentment.

"See, isn't this much better than that drafty old Infirmary?"

Sister Marisol shook her head in admiration. "My, my, you do have a way with that bird. If your bedside manner is this successful with everybeast, you'll make a fine Infirmary keeper someday."

Vanessa blushed slightly at this praise from her mentor.

The leader of the Guosim shrews, who was called Log-a-Log, said to Vanessa, "That's one well-behaved little birdie y'got there, missie. Too bad 'bout its sorry wing. Looks like it'll never be quite right again. If'n it heals permanent that way, that slung wing'll always be a bit higher'n the other. By th' by, what's 'is name?"

Vanessa stared at the shrew blankly. "His name?"

"Well, sure. A beast's gotta have a name, even a little featherscamp like this'n. An' he won't be gettin' one from 'is own kind, judgin' by what they did to him, so I guess it's up to us to give 'im one."

"By seasons, he's right," said Marisol. "And since you're the one he seems to have taken the most shine to, Vanessa, I would say the honor should be yours. You are his rescuer, after all. It's either that, or wait until he's old enough to choose a name for himself ... and I hardly think we want to address him as 'Hey, bird' until he can talk!"

Vanessa was flabbergasted. She knew she'd saved this young creature's life, and taken on a great deal of responsibility on his behalf, but the idea of naming the chick drove home to her just how much of an obligation she'd accepted for herself. It really was as if she'd adopted the Sparra as her own child!

"Um ... " she stammered, "uh, isn't that the kind of thing we should leave to the Father Abbot?"

"Oh, I know good old Arlyn as well as anybeast does," Sister Marisol said. "And I have the feeling he'll tell you the exact same thing. The naming of this creature will fall to you, Vanessa."

"So, any ideas?" Log-a-Log asked her.

"Um ... "

"Let's not rush things, Log-a-Log," said Marisol. "This will be a big responsibility for Vanessa, and I'm sure she'll want to give this a lot of thought. Whatever name she picks will be the one this Sparra will carry for the rest of his seasons. At least we know it's a male baby bird, so we can rule out any female names."

"A name, huh?" Vanessa pondered, and gazed down at the sparrow chick splayed out on the warm hearthstones beside her. He returned her stare with his usual bright black bird's eyes. "So, what am I going to name you?" she asked him softly.

"Cheep," was all he said.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Four days later, Vanessa took the chick back up to the Infirmary to have his wing splint removed. Sister Marisol spent all morning at the task, meticulous and caring in her work. The bird was clearly eager to have the restrictive sling off, but the old healer mouse wanted to make sure she wasn't removing it too soon. After Marisol had painstakingly stripped away the bandages and slipped off the splint, she inspected the injured area from all angles, going so far as to feel around the base of every feather along the length of the wing. There was no way the young Sparra would have allowed anybeast to examine him so thoroughly had it not been for Vanessa, who stayed at his side the entire time with calming words and comforting pats.

Once the close examination was over, Sister Marisol had the chick lift and lower his wings repeatedly to test their range of movement, then walk up and down the length of the Infirmary several times to see how the wounded wing would affect his gait. At one point the bird seemed to think Marisol was asking him to fly, and began flapping his wings so quickly that both mice had to take hold of him to keep him from putting too much stress on his mending injury.

"My word!" exclaimed Vanessa, "I think he'd take off right now if we weren't here to hold him down!"

Sister Marisol grimaced. "That wing might not bother him too much when he walks, but I doubt it will ever be any good for flying. Nothing to be done for it now. As long as the bone has knit right and doesn't cause him any pain, there's no reason he can't live out his full measure of seasons in comfort down here with us."

Vanessa sniffed the air. "Whatever is Friar Hugh doing? Those aromas wafting up from the kitchens almost make me think he's preparing some kind of feast!"

Marisol hid a smile. "Shouldn't be surprised if he is. You know how our dear Friar gets in the dead of winter. He'll whip up a feast just to keep himself from getting bored!"

"Well, breakfast this morning was certainly sparse enough," Vanessa said sourly. "I was going to sneak back to the kitchens myself for a few extra bites, but Sister Grace warned me that Hugh had something special in mind for lunch today and I ought to keep out of his way."

Marisol glanced out the Infirmary windows. "It's almost noontide, so our rumbling tummies won't have much longer to wait, I'm sure. I want to give our bird friend here another couple of strolls across the Infirmary, then we'll head down to Great Hall. If he can make it down those stairs without too much of a problem, I'll be satisfied that I wasn't premature in removing the wing splint."

The chick was visibly happy when Marisol and Vanessa finally led him out into the hall; he'd grown tired of winglifts and pacing back and forth over the same stretch of Infirmary floor. He managed the spiral staircase without much trouble at all, although the two mice walked him down carefully, alert to lend a paw if he should falter on the stone steps.

At last they came off the stairs into Great Hall. Vanessa, intent upon the bird as she was, looked up and then looked up again; she needed the second glance to fully absorb the sight before her.

Great Hall was set up for a full celebratory feast!

The low winter sun slanting through the stained glass windows illuminated a festive scene. Redwall's largest gathering place was festooned with colorful streamers and banners, and every table stood trimmed with the finery of a full Abbey celebration. Dishes worthy of a Nameday feast sat upon the tables already, even as more were being carted out by Friar Hugh's kitchen staff. The savory mingled aromas of so many splendid offerings was almost overwhelming.

"Oh, my ... whatever is going on here?" Vanessa asked.

Abbot Arlyn had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs. "Why, isn't is obvious, my child?" the reverent old mouse smiled benevolently. "We're having a feast!"

"But ... what's the occasion?"

"What's the occasion, she asks?" The Abbot's smile became a foolish grin. "Why, you are, of course!"

00000000000

And so, for the second time that winter season, the Abbey of Redwall was host to a grand feast.

Being the dead of winter, there was no fresh fruit or salad to be had, but this shortcoming hardly prevented Friar Hugh from preparing a memorable spread. All manner of breads had been baked using the Abbey's substantial stocks of milled flour: sweet moist spicebreads; coarse bread with whole and chopped nuts baked in; soft loaves coated with seeds; honeybread studded with bits of dried fruit; garlic and onion bread; and the Friar's specialty, smooth white bread with nuggets of yellow cheese melted inside. Dried watershrimp and hotroot were brewed into a large crock of the spicy soup so popular with the otters, while other dried vegetables were used in a thick stew with dumplings. Dried fruits, along with a whole host of jams and preserves, were baked into scones, pasties, fritters, trifles, and an especially savory raspberry seedcake. An enormous gooseberry crumble with nutmeg cream was the centerpiece of the dessert tray, supported by an assortment of acorn crunch, candied chestnuts, honeyglazed pears, custards and puddings. Wheels and wedges of cheese - red, white and yellow, plain or with nuts - were placed at every table. Beverages included October ale and varieties of wines for the grownups, berry fizz for the youngsters, and hot mint tea for anybeast who wanted it.

It was safe to say that no Redwaller would leave the tables that day feeling hungry.

As the twin guests of honor, Vanessa and the sparrow chick were seated at the Abbot's left paw at the center table. Since chairs and benches were not designed for a bird's posterior, the young Sparra's seat consisted of a large wicker basket piled with enough blankets to bring his head up to a comfortable table level for partaking in the feast. And he wasted no time in pecking away at whatever fare was placed before him, sampling a little bit of everything.

Halfway through the festivities, Sister Marisol stood up at the Abbot's side. "If I could have everybeast's attention! Attention, please!" All eyes turned her way, while the laughter and conversation subsided to a low murmur.

"Now, then," the Infirmary keeper went on, "we're all gathered here to honor our brave mousemaid Vanessa, and this Sparra chick who benefitted from her bravery. We've all given her our cheers and toasts. Now, with our Abbot's permission, I'd like to honor Vanessa in my own way."

Abbot Arlyn smiled and nodded consent; he already knew what she had in mind. "Do go on, Sister Marisol."

Marisol had been fumbling for something in her habit robes; now she held it up for all to see. Vanessa, recognizing the object immediately, flushed slightly with embarrassment, but still had to grin in spite of herself.

"Eight days ago," Marisol announced, holding high the battered old item of footpaw-wear, "this sandal was but one half of a worn old pair of mine that I'd almost forgotten I owned. Today, however, it is now a respected and honored weapon, wielded in battle by this brave mousemaid in defense of another, and retrieved from the field of conflict by our dear Alexander. And so, in keeping with the Redwall tradition of honoring our courageous warriors and their regal weapons, I shall now display this in its proper hallowed place of dignity."

With an exaggerated air of pomp and solemnity, Marisol strode slowly across the floor toward a spot along one wall of Great Hall, holding the battered old sandal out before her like some sacred relic. Several of the Abbey children tittered and giggled at such silliness, and even many of the grownups could not wholly suppress their chuckles.

Marisol halted. Before her hung the ancient sword and shield of Martin the Warrior, the legendary mouse who had helped the good creatures of Mossflower defeat the wildcat tyrants of an age long past so that Redwall could be built. Martin was the Abbey's most revered historical figure, and it was often said that his spirit watched over and protected all Redwallers, through good times and bad. His venerable arms, the very ones he'd used in that ancient war, hung on display in Great Hall; they were among the most treasured of the Abbey's possessions. It had been many, many seasons since any Redwaller had needed to pick up those arms against an enemy. Now they served mostly as reminders of a more glorious - and more perilous - age gone by.

With a grand flourish, Sister Marisol looped the sandal's thong over one of the brackets holding the sword, leaving the shoe dangling beneath the splendid blade.

She turned back around to face her audience, paws raised high. "There, it's done! A valued addition to Redwall's armory!"

Cheers and laughter broke out, and nearly everybeast in Great Hall applauded heartily. Marisol's performance had proven the perfect entertainment, honoring Vanessa and amusing the feastgoers at the same time.

The Infirmary keeper returned to the main table, giving a bow and a courtsey to the delighted Redwallers before resuming her seat. "That's for you, too," she said to Vanessa. "Stand up and take a bow."

Vanessa blushed more deeply than before. She stood, nodded once, and sat down again, all so quickly that anybeast who'd blinked might have missed it.

Then, thinking better of this opportunity to command the attention of all her fellow Abbeydwellers, Vanessa got to her feet a second time and addressed those around her. Clearing her throat, she began tremulously, "The last time we were all gathered together for a feast such as this - back when I was just a simple novice mousemaid and not the celebrated hero that I am now - was for this season's Nameday. Well, I propose that we make this a Nameday celebration too.

"I have been told that the task of choosing a name for this Sparra must fall to me. And I have been badgered - no pun intended, Maura! - I've been badgered constantly by a few of you who are clamoring to know what name I'm going to pick. You fussbottoms know who you are - Alex, Monty! Well, clamor no more. I've made my decision, and what better place to announce it than this feast, where my new sparrow friend is my fellow honoree?"

Vanessa took one wingtip of the Sparra chick and lifted it high. The baby bird had been engrossed in devouring a plate of candied chestnuts, but now all his attention was on his favorite mousemaid.

"I hereby dub thee ... Highwing, Sparra of Redwall!"

The cheering and applause was even more thunderous than before. Some of the Redwallers - chiefly otters and squirrels, along with many of the Guosim shrews - shouted boisterously, "Yea, Highwing! Here's to Highwing!" and hoisted their mugs accordingly in salute.

"A wise and noble choice," Abbot Arlyn told Vanessa, "although I suspect you were thinking about his broken wing, which has set higher than the other, when you chose that name. I only hope it will not prove a burden to this creature as he goes through life, bearing a name that calls attention to his malady, and the fact that he will probably never be able to fly."

"Yes, I did consider that," said Vanessa, regarding the sparrow at her side. "But this is the right name for him. I know it ... I feel it ... "

The Sparra chick, already nonchalant about the attention focused upon him, casually went back to pecking at his candied chestnuts.

00000000000

As the feast was winding down, and the fading daylight coming in through the stained glass windows was replaced by the warm glow of torches and lamps, Vanessa and Geoff took Highwing over to the wall to show him the Warrior's sword and shield - and now, sandal! - more closely.

Near these weapons hung the Abbey's other prized treasure, the great tapestry. Started several generations after the founding of Redwall, the brightly embroidered work stood as tall as several beasts, and featured a colorful depiction of Martin the Warrior in his full glory during the wildcat wars. Although none who'd had a paw in the making of the tapestry had known Martin personally, it was said that they'd captured the essence and likeness of Redwall's founding mouse warrior perfectly.

When the sparrow and the two mice had beheld both sword and shield for long enough to suit their interest, they shifted over to stand before the tapestry. Maura the badger ambled over to join them in their contemplation of the ornate wall hanging, taking a break from her supervision of the younger Abbey children.

Vanessa was pointing up at the tapestry for the benefit of the Sparra chick. "See there, Highwing? That's Martin the Warrior. Can you say Martin? Try it with me ... Martin ... Martin ... Maaarrrtinnn ... "

"I'm afraid you're probably wasting your breath, Nessa," the big badger rumbled. "Sparra aren't known for their eloquence. And one this young - "

Maura was interrupted by Highwing, who chirped in a clear singsong voice with perfect pronunciation, "Martin!"

"Well, I ... " Maura was clearly taken aback. "I do believe I owe you an apology, Vanessa. And your birdfriend too. What a perfect little mimic!"

"Martin!" Highwing cheeped.

"Yes, that's very good." Vanessa patted Highwing on the back of the neck. "Very, very good."

"Martin! Martin! ... "

Geoff covered his ears. "Um, that's all very well. Now we'll have to teach him some other words. Hey, Highwing - " Geoff rapped lightly on the bird's beak to make him shut up, " - don't you know any other words, you wayward featherbag? You're wearing that one out!"

Highwing looked up into Geoff's face for several moments, then burst out joyfully, "Pinky!"

Geoff's paws came up to his nose. "Oh, no ... Vanessa, you taught him that!"

"I never did!" the mousemaid declared earnestly, laughing as she did so. "It must have been Alex, or Monty. We've all taken turns birdsitting him down in Cavern Hole."

"Pinky! Pinky!" Highwing cheeped happily.

"You, you stop that!" Geoff ordered the sparrow, trying to put on a stern and admonishing tone.

He might as well have tried arguing with the wind. Highwing danced about in one spot like a feathered dervish, flapping his wings and merrily singing, "PinkyPinkyPinky!"

"Great. Just great." Geoff covered his bright pink nose with both paws and stormed off, thoroughly mortified and humiliated. Alexander and Montybank, drawn by the commotion, approached Vanessa from the opposite way. "Hey, what's the ruckus?" the squirrel called out.

"PinkyPinky!" Highwing greeted for her.

Alex glanced toward Geoff's retreating back. "Ah, so that's what that was all about. I thought ol' dustywhiskers looked a bit deflated!" He turned to his otter companion. "Well, Monty, seems your student picked up on your lessons quite nicely."

Maura smirked at Montybank. "Should've known it was this ruddertailed troublemaker who was behind this. I'm glad you're an adult now, Monty - if I had to be your nursemaid for one season more, it'd put more gray in my fur than I could stand!"

"Pinky!" Highwing trilled, trying to keep all the attention on himself.

Montybank squatted down alongside the spirited chick and playfully ruffled Highwing's neck feathers. "Oo, yore so well spoke, a bird after me own 'eart! Jus' lissen t'yer Uncle Monty, an' I'll learn ya all y'needs t'know 'ereabouts!"

Vanessa and Maura both rolled their eyes toward the ceiling.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

As it turned out, that winter's feast was merely the beginning of Highwing's career as a champion talker.

As winter wore on toward spring, with the days growing noticeably longer and the weather blessedly milder, the good creatures of Redwall began to stir from their cold-season lethargy in response to the world renewing itself around them. Except for the few tasks of routine maintenance, the Abbeyfolk had mostly relaxed their way through the winter, just as they always did, basking in the warm glow of the hearthfires and each other's companionship, content to nibble and sip at Friar Hugh's tasty offerings until the fierce cold outside spent itself and yielded at last to springtime's brighter sun and gentler days.

All was not idleness, however. Brother Trevor kept up his classes for the Abbey children, schooling them in reading, writing and the history of Redwall. Geoff, being one of the oldest students and very adept at both letters and historical knowledge, was appointed Trevor's assistant to help arrange and plan lessons. By winter's end, the apprentice mouse had shown such promise in this position that it became clear Trevor was grooming him to become Redwall's next Recorder and historian, after Trevor himself grew too old to perform those duties. Geoff was delighted beyond words, and went about his scholarly apprenticeship with a new sense of seriousness and solemnity that only opened himself up to even more playful kidding from his more easygoing friends ... particularly Alex and Monty, who would often fall into step behind Geoff when he wasn't looking, imitating his stiffly formal gait and prim expression with stiff-legged, stone-faced impersonations that made onlookers giggle and chuckle in spite of themselves.

For Vanessa it was an even busier time. Often she was excused from classes to spend time with Sister Marisol, learning all the healing wisdom and lore that she could absorb from the old Infirmary keeper. And then there was Highwing to look after. Vanessa and the Sparra chick could not have been separated from one another with a pry bar; the sparrow would tag along after the mousemaid wherever she went, and Vanessa encouraged him fully. Every free minute was spent playfully chasing each other up and down throughout the Abbey. Cavern Hole was hardly enough to contain such youthful enthusiasm; their rambunctious wanderings took them through nearly every room and chamber and tunnel in Redwall, and sometimes even out onto the cold wintry grounds. Highwing revelled in their occasional excursions, although Vanessa was careful to make sure Alex and Monty accompanied them at such times. She well recalled Grym Sparra's deadly vow of revenge, and not even the presence of her stout otter and squirrel friends could stop her from casting nervous glances up toward the roofspaces of Warbeak Loft.

And all the while, Highwing's verbal education continued. When he wasn't chattering on, gleefully trying out new words and phrases he'd picked up, then he was listening, ever listening: to the stories and arguments of the Guosim shrews; to the songs of the otters; to Abbot Arlyn's mealtime blessings; to Brother Trevor's lessons whenever he followed Vanessa to one of the historian's classes, and to Sister Marisol's words of wisdom when Vanessa was training up in the Infirmary; and to just about anything else anybeast had to say. Like a sponge soaking up water, the young sparrow drank in everything he could.

By winter's end Highwing was speaking in complete sentences, and could converse (if only in a limited fashion) in both the formal manner of the mice of the Redwall order and in the more colorful vernacular of the shrews and otters, although he was still learning the exact meaning of many of his favorite words and how to properly use them in conversation. Physically, nearly all his chick's down had fallen out, giving way to the stubby, emerging plumage of an adult Sparra. His crooked wing kept him from flying, but this didn't seem to bother him too much, so fully was his attention focused on his word skills. Surely, he was shaping up to be the most eloquent and well-spoken sparrow that Redwall had ever seen.

00000000000

At last came the days that everybeast had been waiting for, when springtime was clearly in the air and winter was nearly over. Foremole and his mole crew started venturing outdoors on the warmer days, tilling the soil in the gardens in anticipation of an early spring planting, while the Guosim shrews began to gear up for their departure from Redwall. Mossflower Woods beckoned to them with its vast expanses, and the shrews' wandering, adventurous spirit would not allow them to dwell with their Abbey friends much longer.

A drastic cold snap during the last two days of winter was enough to refreeze the surface of the Abbey pond all the way across. But on the first day of spring, warmer temperatures and bright sun caused it to thaw in a most peculiar manner. The ice in the center of the pond cracked and melted away completely by midday, but that along the banks persisted, reaching out toward the middle of the pond in long, jagged arms. Viewed from the heights of the walltop battlements it was spectacularly beautiful, and everybeast in Redwall took a turn up on the ramparts that day to behold the sight.

Vanessa stood with Geoff and Highwing on the walltop, a short distance away from Abbot Arlyn and some of the other Abbey elders. "By all the seasons!" she murmured. "It looks like a giant snowflake!"

Geoff shook his head. "Never seen a snowflake that was bright blue in the middle. Look at how the sun's lighting up the water - it's almost glowing! The whole thing looks to me more like a giant crystal."

Brother Trevor, who was standing near enough to overhear, came forward and rested his paws on Geoff's shoulders. "I do believe my young assistant here has hit the nail on the head. Crystal blue water, surrounded by crystal white ice. The grandest gemstone nature could have devised, displayed for one brief day right here on our Abbey grounds."

The Abbot joined them. "Your apprentice may have many seasons to go before he replaces you as Abbey Recorder, Trevor, but he's certainly getting off to a fast start, considering that he's just come up with the name for this season."

Young Geoff was as taken aback as anybeast there. "Huh? What do you mean, sir?"

Arlyn swept his paw out to indicate the white-trimmed lake of blue beneath them. "Look upon it well, my friends," he pronounced. "The sight will be gone forever after today, but the wonder of it will live in our memory for seasons to come. Therefore, let this be known as the Spring of the Crystal Pond."

Applause and cheers broke out along the walltop. "Hooray! Hooray! Let's have a Nameday!"

Alexander the squirrel pounded Geoff heartily on the back. "Good goin', Geoffy! Now we don't have to wait to hold the feast!"

Highwing flapped in place in delight. "Three cheers for Pinky! Hip hip - " The sparrow never got to finish his cheer, ducking to dodge a good-natured blow from Geoff in reprisal for the use of his dreaded nickname.

"Hey, now, no horseplay up here, you two," Trevor scolded mildly. "We don't want anybeast falling and getting hurt."

"Wouldn't hurt me," Highwing boasted, spreading wide his not-quite-even wings. "I'd fly down, 'cos I'm a bird!"

The others all smiled politely. Highwing's previous attempts at flying had been mercifully few, and not very encouraging. But that didn't stop the young Sparra from boasting of his flying prowess at every opportunity.

"If it's all the same, my friend," Abbot Arlyn advised Highwing, "I'd suggest you stick with the wall stairs. We wouldn't want any bruised or broken appendages marring our Nameday feast, now would we?"

"And when is this feast to be, Abbot?" Trevor asked.

"I see no need to delay, now that we have a perfectly fine name. We'll hold it as soon as possible ... tomorrow, if Friar Hugh and his kitchen staff can manage it."

"Oh, I'm sure they can," said Trevor, "even if it means working through the night. But we've all had a long and lazy winter. Time to do some real work!"

Everybeast cheered anew. Laboring to prepare a Nameday feast was one chore no Redwaller would shy away from.

00000000000

True to Trevor's prediction, the feast was fully prepared by noon of the following day. If Friar Hugh and his helpers were drained from their overnight marathon effort, they didn't let that keep them from enjoying the fruits of their labors. And they had plenty of company, since nearly half the Abbey had stayed up along with them, lending a paw any way they could.

Much of the morning was spent setting up Great Hall for the feast. But when Abbot Arlyn saw that this second full day of spring was turning out to be wonderfully bright and calm with no sign of clouds or rain, he changed his mind and decreed that the feast should be held out on the lawns under the magnificent sky of blue. The task was a challenging one, but with the Guosim shrews on paw to assist Redwall's strong squirrels and otters - not to mention Maura the badger, who could lift and carry an entire long table all by herself - the lawns were all set for the celebration by the time the sun reached its noontide zenith.

Every participant in that day's feast would swear afterwards that the beautiful weather made everything taste better - the creams creamier, the ale smoother, the shrimp stew hotter, the pastries sweeter, and the cheeses fuller. The Nameday feast for the Spring of the Crystal Pond would last until sundown, although most of the revellers had eaten and drunk their fill long before either the food or the daylight gave out. Many who'd labored through the night to prepare the feast rewarded themselves by stretching out on the lawns and napping in the warm sunshine.

Toward late afternoon some of the otters - whose energy was just about boundless - congregated by the banks of the now completely unfrozen pond. Since the water was still a bit too cold for comfortable swimming, they contented themselves with some friendly jousts of sparring with the double-pointed steel javelins favored by the otter folk. And since those matches could be as entertaining to watch as they were for the otters who actually participated, in no time at all a small crowd of Redwallers had gathered about them. Not too close, of course, since the brawny, agile waterbeasts liked plenty of room to maneuver.

Since young Montybank was among the jousters, his friends Alexander, Geoff, Vanessa and Highwing made sure to come over and watch. After several rigorous bouts with older and more experienced otters in which he held his own admirably, Monty withdrew from the contests to join his young companions as a spectator until he got his wind back.

Highwing skipped over to him. "Hey, Monty, can I see that spear?"

"Wotcha callin' a spear, beakface? This 'ere's a proper otter javelin, all fine tempered steel an' pointed at both ends, an' as rare as any ol' ordinary spear is common."

"Oh, sorry. Then can I see your JAVELIN, please?"

"Why'd a pillow-stuffer like you wanna see this?" Monty twirled the steel shaft.

"It looked like fun, what you were doing, and I'd like to try it," Highwing said.

"You ... wanna try ... " Monty burst out laughing. "Oh, that's a good 'un, right 'nuff. Here y'go, matey - have at it!"

Balancing on one leg, Highwing reached out with his other talon to take the weapon from Monty. Once he had a good grip on the slender shank, the young Sparra brandished it out in front of him in a proud fighter's stance ... and promptly toppled forward onto his beak, pulled off his one-legged stand by the weight of the heavy implement.

Monty stood over the fallen sparrow, paws on knees, looking down at Highwing. "Ahoy, there, messmate, wot's th' matter? Too much ballast for'ard? Harr Harr!"

Vanessa helped Highwing up onto his claws once more. "Are you all right?" she asked, stifling a giggle.

"Got dirt in my beak ... Phtoo!" The bird studied the javelin lying on the ground; the others could see the mental gears working from the look of intense concentration on his face. "Lemme try again," he said at last, scooping up the shaft in one talon.

This time, however, Highwing did not wait to be pulled over onto his face again. Knowing how the javelin's weight would throw him off balance, he spread his wings and leaned slightly backward to compensate, hopping uncertainly on his one remaining leg while he sought equilibrium. Flapping and bouncing, he wielded the javelin wildly before him, trying to imitate the moves he'd seen the otters making.

Geoff dove for cover. "Watch out, you crazy birdbag! You're liable to skewer somebeast!"

"Hey, that ain't too bad," Monty admitted, sizing up Highwing's parries and thrusts. He borrowed another javelin from one of his fellow otters and stepped forward. "En guard, you feathered rogue! Yaha!"

The metallic ringing of their clashing steel rods echoed across the Abbey grounds. For such an ungainly battle stance, Highwing held his own quite well against Monty ... although, to be fair, the otter was going very easy on him. It was all just a game, and both knew it.

Abbot Arlyn ambled over, pawing at his eyes. "Been snoozing the day away, Father?" Alexander teased him.

"Trying to, Alex, but it's hard to get any blissful slumber with all this racket going on over here. I say, what's Highwing doing in with all those jousting otters?"

"Making a bid to become our next Abbey champion, by the look of things," the young squirrel said.

"Well, he's certainly caught on to that rather quickly," the Abbot observed. "Why, just look at him go, flapping about on one leg ... looks like he's dancing and duelling at the same time." Arlyn set a paw on Vanessa's shoulder. "Hard to believe that's the same downy chick who fell off our roof at the start of winter. Between his physical development and his skill with words, I'd say Redwall is treating him well. You must be very proud of him, Vanessa."

"Oh, I am, Abbot. I am. And I have a feeling our Highwing will someday give us all reason to be proud of him."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

As the spring undertook its long and glorious march toward summer, Redwall Abbey shook off its winter doldrums to become a hive of activity. Quite literally, in the case of the bees and the brothers and sisters who tended them for their honey. But all over Redwall there were a hundred and one things that needed doing. The Guosim shrews had departed for their warmer-weather wanderings, leaving just the permanent year-round residents to look after the Abbey until late fall, when the shrews would return.

Not that there was any shortage of willing paws to perform all the outdoor tasks that needed doing. Indeed, some of the Abbeydwellers became quite creative at inventing nonsense jobs which would get them outside on the beautiful days that this particular season provided in abundance. Even the most straight-laced of the Redwallers were heard to take time out for brushing the lawns, polishing any outdoor metal fixtures that could be found, washing down treetrunks in the orchard, or picking dead reeds out of the pond shallows. And, needless to say, sentry duty proved to be especially popular, with often three times the usual number of lookouts walking the walltop ... except on rainy days, of course.

Highwing continued to grow and flourish, both in body and in wordplay. In the former category, the otters supplied him with a light oak stave which the young sparrow could manage more easily than the heavier steel javelins; his mortal duels with Montybank became almost a daily event, enjoyed immensely by both bird and otter, and Highwing's fighting skills improved rapidly, even if it was all just for sport.

When he wasn't playing, Highwing sat in on Brother Trevor's classes for the younger children, learning more about the ways and history of Redwall Abbey, as well as reading and writing. Vanessa joined him whenever she could, although her days were increasingly occupied by her sessions with Sister Marisol up in the Infirmary. Vanessa had been excused from any further general schooling, and the classes Highwing attended were for primary students, things the mousemaid had learned long ago. Still, she dropped in on Trevor's schoolroom often, enjoying the company of all the youngbeasts - who were always happy to see her, since she was very popular with them - and checking the progress of her favorite Sparra. Geoff, too, welcomed her visits, since none of the students were near his own age, and Vanessa's presence gave him a break from working solely with the older teacher and their young pupils.

It was on one particularly splendid afternoon halfway toward summer that Vanessa stopped by the classroom to find Trevor's students having a song and poetry competition. The day before, Trevor had assigned each youngster the task of composing a short piece to be sung or recited for the class. They could be as serious or as whimsical as each child cared to make them, but the main point was to have fun.

Vanessa took a seat next to Geoff at the back of the room. He leaned over to her and whispered, "Are you sure you want to stick around for this, Nessa? Some of these tykes have voices that could shatter glass. And when they get to singing, some of them can get quite ... enthusiastic, shall we say."

Vanessa patted his paw. "I'm sure they'll be just fine. Besides, I want to hear what Highwing's come up with."

Each child was called upon by Brother Trevor to take a turn standing up at the front of the class to recite or sing their compositions. Some mumbled shyly, barely to be heard, while others performed with boisterous abandon, eager for all the attention. Balla the hedgehog gave a particularly spirited rendition of a song she'd cowritten with her uncle Jovey the cellarkeeper, singing the praises of all the various beverages to be found in Redwall's casks and barrels. It was quite humorous and much applauded by the hogmaid's classmates when she'd concluded, far and away the best-received of the offerings made that day ... until Highwing's turn came.

The sparrow waited until everybeast else had finished, then hopped up to take his place at the head of the class. His fellow students greeted him warmly, for they knew that Highwing had a natural way with words and was likely to have concocted a most entertaining verse for the occasion. Vanessa lent her applause to the rest, anticipating what her Sparra friend would sing or say.

Highwing noisily cleared his throat and clacked his beak. "Ahem! This piece was written as a tongue-twister, or perhaps beak-twister is more correct - anyway, it's meant to be sung very fast, so please bear with me. It doesn't have a title, but I think the words say it all. Listen closely, and you should be able to catch them all."

Puffing out his breast and squaring his wing shoulders in a dignified posture, Highwing launched into his song.

"Ooooooooo,

A Sparra I am and a Sparra am I

And there's no other bird that I'd like to be.

Not a nasty jackdaw or a thieving magpie,

Not a guillemot nor a dovekie.

I'd never get over being a plover,

An albtross, gony or mollymawk.

Not a lonely kestrel nor a wind-hover,

Not a fearsome falcon, kite, eagle or hawk.

I'd truly quail if I were a quail

And I'd surely rail against being a rail.

Don't make me a firetail or a pied wagtail,

No, not even a nightingale.

Not a chiffchaff nor a chaffinch,

Not a duck, mallard or drake.

Not a linnet, greenfinch or goldfinch,

Not a coot or a crane or a crake.

So glad am I that I'm not a raven,

An ousel or blackbird or bloody-billed chough,

A bare-faced rook or a crow so craven;

Of those villains we have quite enough!

I'd never have made a good cuckoo,

Heron, cormorant or egret.

Nor a whaup, whimbrel or curlew;

To be a seagull I'd deeply regret.

Swift, swan and swallow I all can name,

Woodcock, woodlark and bittern.

I'll not be an owl if it's all the same,

Nor a dove, tinker, titmouse or tern.

No willow warbler or wryneck or wren,

No dabchick or dunlin or knot;

No robin or redpoll or fat mother hen,

And a speedy sandpiper I'm not.

Of goose or gander Redwall has no need,

Nor of skylark or song thrush or scout;

Not peewit or lapwing, oh no not indeed,

And who needs a pipit or whitethroat about?

I'd not be a bunting, starling or pheasant,

Woodpecker, partridge, pigeon or grouse.

And while a martin might not be unpleasant,

I'll stick with Martin the Warrior Mouse!

O, a Sparra am I and a Sparra I am,

And this I think I can safely say:

You'll surely agree, dear sir or ma'am,

That I'd have it no other way!"

Highwing began his song swaying on the tips of his talons in time with the verse, shifting his weight back and forth from one claw to another. The farther into the song he got, the more animated he became, until he was practically dancing a jig in place at the front of the classroom, flouncing and fluttering with complete abandon. Yet so fine had the young sparrow's skills at recitation become that he did not miss a beat nor misspeak a single word of his intricate, rapid-fire lyrical delivery. It was a bravura performance, better even than Balla's cellar song, and his classmates absolutely loved it. Highwing breathlessly (and quite immodestly) took a deep and ostentatious bow into the applause, cheers and laughter that greeted the conclusion of his final line.

Vanessa and Geoff came forward to congratulate him. "That was marvelous!" the mousemaid exulted, ruffling Highwing's neck feathers. "However did you come up with such a clever song?"

"Well, I did get a little help from Monty and the other otters," the bird admitted. "Now that the shrews have left, those waterdogs are Redwall's best songsters and lyricmakers."

Geoff nodded knowingly. "Yes, I rather thought I detected an otter influence to that rhyme. Well, there wasn't anything in Brother Trevor's assignment saying that you couldn't get help in composing your songs and poems for this little contest. After all, Balla got help from her Uncle Jovey, too ... and I'd say you both did a superb job."

Brother Trevor smiled. "I knew something was up when Highwing came to me after yesterday's lessons, asking me for a list of every kind of bird I could think of. I must admit, I heard a few in there that even I wouldn't have been able to come up with. The otters must have helped with more than just the song structure."

"Even so, Highwing," said Vanessa, "you must have been up half the night getting all that worked out."

"Oh, 'twas nothing," the sparrow shrugged off, then abruptly dropped his beak onto his chest, shut his eyes, and emitted a loud snore, eliciting peals of laughter from everybeast around him. Even Brother Trevor chuckled aloud.

"So, who's was better?" Balla demanded to know of the teacher. "Who wins, me or Highwing?"

Trevor beamed at the hogmaid. "Why, we are all winners here today, and our prize was getting to hear two such fine songs as yours and Highwing's. But," he added mischieviously, "for those of you who feel there ought to be more reward than that, we'll all just have to troop down to Cavern Hole to sample the strawberry-cream three-layered trifle I had Friar Hugh whip up for the occasion!"

Nearly every voice in the room squealed in delight at this announcement, so much so that Geoff winced and covered his ears. As Trevor was organizing the children for an orderly march down to the kitchens, Sister Grace appeared in the doorway with a stricken look on her face. "Oh, Vanessa, I've found you at last! You must come quickly!"

A dire mood settled over the room as everybeast fell silent. "What is it?" Vanessa asked the older mouse.

"It's ... it's Sister Marisol," Grace's voice cracked, and she turned away, unable to say anything more.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"She looks so ... peaceful," Vanessa said as she pawed away a tear.

With her in the Infirmary were Geoff, Brother Trevor, Sister Grace and Abbot Arlyn. Old Sister Marisol lay still upon one of the room's beds, eyes closed and face relaxed in the slumber from which there was no awakening.

"I still don't believe it," Grace sniffled. "She'd asked me up here to darn some old pillows whose seams were coming apart. One moment we were chatting away about the wonderful weather, then suddenly she said she was feeling very tired and went over to rest in that overstuffed highback chair in the corner. I thought she'd merely fallen asleep, but when I tried to rouse her after I'd stitched another pillow, I discovered she'd passed away ... just like that."

"At least she went peacefully, and among friends," Trevor said solemnly. "We should all be lucky enough to leave this world in such a manner."

"But remember, Brother Trevor," said the Abbot, "it is always difficult to lose such a friend as Sister Marisol, under any circumstances. We may take solace from the fact that she lived a full and happy life right up to her very last day, that she knew no suffering at the end, and that she now no doubt dwells in a place where such a thing can never touch her. But that does not dull the sense of loss for those who must live on without her. I shall declare a period of mourning until midday tomorrow, at which time we will have a special lunch in her memory. In the meantime, we must prepare our dear departed Sister for her final rest."

Sister Grace gave another sniff as she turned to leave. "I'll go get started on a burial shroud. She deserves the best we can give her."

"Thank you, Sister," Abbot Arlyn said to Grace as she left the Infirmary.

Vanessa stared down at Marisol's peaceful form. The sunlight streaming through the window at the head of the bed bathed her in a benevolent glow, almost like a halo around her whole body. Looking at her thus, it was almost impossible to believe she wasn't simply sleeping, ready to wake at any moment.

"I keep thinking," Vanessa said, "that if I'd been here, I might have been able to do something ... "

Abbot Arlyn laid a paw on her shoulder. "Now, my child, it's natural to feel that way, but you really mustn't. It was her time, and nobeast here had any say in the matter. And now that Sister Marisol has left us, you are our new Infirmary keeper."

"But ... but ... " the mousemaid stammered. "I'm too young! She had seasons' more worth of healer's arts to teach me - I'm not ready for it!"

"Nevertheless," the Abbot stated gently but firmly, "you were her apprentice, and although your tutelage has now been cut short, you still know more of the healing skills from your brief time studying under Sister Marisol than any other Redwaller. You still have much to learn, that is true. But the position is now yours and yours alone."

Vanessa was on the verge of tears. "But however will I manage?"

"You're not the first young Redwaller to be thrust into a position of responsibility before she felt she was ready," Arlyn said sympathetically. "Why, we've had Abbesses who were only a season or two older than you are now. Experience is often the best teacher of all; and to become really good at something, sometimes you just have to roll up your sleeves and do it for awhile. Nobeast is expecting miracles of you, my child. We will be patient with you as you grow into your new role. And you may take comfort in the knowledge that you won't be completely on your own in tending the Infirmary."

"What do you mean, Father Abbot?" Vanessa asked him.

"Well, for starters, " Arlyn explained, "I know a thing or two about the healing arts myself, as is expected of all our Abbots and Abbesses - I just never had much chance to practice those skills with so accomplished a healer as Marisol around. So, if some challenge should come your way and you feel overwhelmed, don't hesitate to call on me. I may not have the answer myself, but two heads are almost always better than one."

The older mouse took her gently by the paw and led her away from Marisol's deathbed, over to one corner of the Infirmary where the deceased healer had kept a small desk and a few short wall shelves full of books and parchments. "And mine will not be the only help you will have, or even the best. Here are all the medical journals that Sister Marisol kept during her many seasons as Redwall's healer. Recipes, procedures, symptoms and cures for just about every malady likely to cross this threshold. And right alongside them -" Abbot Arlyn traced his pawtip along the spines of the bound volumes, " - you'll find the diaries of old Father Darrow, who was Abbot before me, and the keeper of this Infirmary even before that. Here, Vanessa, you have at your disposal the lifetime of learning from two of your predecessors, anytime you need them. There are even more down in the archives - a great many more, no doubt, going back to the earliest ages of Redwall's history - but these dozen or so here should keep you busy for awhile, and contain most of what you will need to know."

Vanessa felt as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders. Of course it would all work out fine. This was the calling for which she was being trained, and she would not shy away from it now. Every one of her fellow Redwallers would support her and help her out in any way that they could. Why, she'd even have the Abbot himself to call upon at any time of the day or night if she needed to. And, in a way, Sister Marisol would still always be with Vanessa, through the writings she'd left behind. The young mousemaid swore to herself right then and there that she would read every one of these volumes from cover to cover - yes, and Darrow's too - until she knew their contents by heart. There would be time; Redwallers were generally a healthy lot, and Vanessa was confident that it would be some time into her tenure as Infirmary keeper before she'd be confronted by anything worse than an upset stomach or minor scrapes and bruises. The crush of responsibility which had weighed upon her so heavily mere moments before was gone, leaving a sense of enthusiasm and purpose in its place.

She turned and looked at Arlyn. "Thank you, Father Abbot. I wasn't sure I'd be able to do what was expected of me, but now I know I can."

"That's the spirit!" he smiled at her. "Now, why don't you and Geoff run along and lend Maura a paw in looking after the little ones? I'm sure she'd appreciate the help. Brother Trevor, Sister Grace and I will make Sister Marisol ready for her final rest."

00000000000

The children of Brother Trevor's class had been promised cake, and not even the sad occurrence of Sister Marisol's unexpected passing would deny them their sweet reward. Vanessa and Geoff entered Cavern Hole to find empty plates and full bellies - if a hungry youngbeast's belly can ever be said to be truly full - and spirits generally high as sticky paws were delightedly licked clean and then licked some more.

Mother Maura the badger presided over the merry melee, while Friar Hugh and Jovey the hedgehog cellarkeeper worked at entertaining the youngsters. Balla was singing her cellar song again for her classmates, but this time her uncle Jovey accompanied her with his deep baritone, and took a solo with a new verse he'd composed since the previous night.

Maura took Vanessa aside. "This happy crew is all the doing of your birdfriend, I want you to know. When they came down here they were a weepy and morose bunch, and Friar Hugh's magnificent trifle was about to go to waste, since they were all too saddened to have much of an appetite. Well, that sparrow jumps up in front of them and starts singing that silly tonguetwister of his. He performed it twice, all the way through, and by the end of the second round, most of his classmates were joining in. Then some of the others wanted to sing their songs again, and that made them hungry enough to tuck into Hugh's cake. Balla's on her third go-round of that cellar song - Jovey keeps thinking up new bits to stick into it that he wants to try out." The big badger shook her head in admiring wonder. "I'd say Highwing's got natural leadership ability to match his wordplay talents. He's made this gang forget all about their sadness over Sister Marisol for the moment. I think it's due in large part to the example you've set for him, Vanessa. You've done a good job with that bird."

Vanessa was not so quick to take all the credit herself. "We've all done our share to make Highwing feel like part of Redwall's family, even if I am the one he's most fond of. But now that Sister Marisol's gone and I'm to be the Abbey's new full-time Infirmary keeper, I'll be way too busy to spend the kind of time with him that he's accustomed to. Whatever shall I do about that?"

Maura glanced across Cavern Hole to where Highwing had boisterously joined in on Balla and Jovey's cellar song, adding a new verse of his own. The badger smiled.

"I've the feeling that Sparra's going to be just fine, Vanessa. Just fine."

00000000000

Late that afternoon Sister Marisol was laid to rest.

Every Redwaller, from the smallest babe to the oldest of the old, turned out for the somber ceremony. Montybank and Alexander tolled out a solemn requiem song on the Matthias and Methuselah bells, then came down from the belltower to join their fellow mourners.

The moles had dug a neat and proper rectangle of grave under an ancient peach tree in the orchard, a spot which had been a favorite of the old Infirmary keeper. Marisol lay now within the shallow open pit, wrapped in the luxurious red and violet burial shroud that Sister Grace had produced. Beneath the quiet shade of the flowering branches, pierced here and there by slanting rays of the westering sun, Abbot Arlyn recited a prayer for the dead.

"Friends and seasons come and go,

Life plays out, the page is turned.

Eternal cycle we all know,

Children from their elders learned.

Friends departed lie below,

Enjoy the peace that they have earned.

Forever in our hearts their glow;

How bright their spirits burned."

The Abbot stepped back from the grave, making room for others to approach. As was the custom at Redwall, many of the Abbeyfolk had brought small keepsakes and mementos with them, small gifts of parting to be buried alongside the deceased to help ease the spirit on its journey into the next world. The offerings ranged from simple swaths of cloth and pinecones to tiny sculptures and handiworks. There was no sense of competition to the proceedings; the simplest gifts were as welcome as the most extravagant.

When everybeast else had presented their tokens, Highwing stepped forward to stand at the head of the grave. Bowing his head, he intoned:

"One young mouse did rescue me;

One old mouse did heal me.

Now the two are become one,

As the student takes on the teacher's role.

Redwall is in good paws,

But we will miss the one who's left us."

With that, Highwing plucked out one of the longer feathers from the wing Sister Marisol had mended, and laid it in the grave alongside the other Redwallers' gifts. It was a powerful gesture, and many of the onlookers wiped away fresh tears.

Vanessa stepped up to the grave's edge alongside the Abbot. In her paw she held the worn old sandal she'd used to fight off Highwing's attackers, and which Sister Marisol had hung beneath the sword of Martin in Great Hall. Now the young mousemaid stood regarding it in uncertainty.

"I thought it would be appropriate to bury this with her," Vanessa said, "but now I'm having second thoughts. What do you think, Abbot? Should we leave this where Sister Marisol hung it?"

"That decision is yours," Arlyn replied. "But, if it were up to me, I would think the better way to commemorate her would be to leave it on display in Great Hall, where it can always remind us of her wisdom and kindness. And remember, it honors your own bravery as much as anything. So, Sister Marisol may have placed that sandal with Martin's sword and shield partly as a jest, but there was also true wisdom in that deed. If it were my decision to make, I would leave it where it was."

Vanessa nodded. "Then I will. But, I didn't bring anything else to give Sister Marisol."

"Not to worry, my child." Arlyn patted her shoulder reassuringly. "By vowing to carry on as best you can in Sister Marisol's stead as Redwall's chief healer, yours is the greatest gift to her out of any of ours. Wherever she is now, I'm sure she's very proud of you."

Vanessa cheered up at these kind words. "Thank you, Father Abbot."

Arlyn raised his voice to address the entire assemblage. "This ceremony is concluded. Let us all go inside now, and leave it to Foremole to fill the good earth back in to make a proper burial mound. Tonight we'll have a simple meal of mourning, but tomorrow at noontide we'll hold a feast in Sister Marisol's memory, right here beneath these very trees that she held so dear. Thus will we honor her, in a fashion I'm sure she would have encouraged."

The assembled Redwallers broke away in small groups, ambling somberly in toward the main Abbey building. The last of the afternoon sun danced through the leafy treetops, bidding its own farewell to Redwall's departed healer.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Mother Maura's assessment of Highwing proved to be correct. It did not seem to bother the young bird overmuch that he saw little of his favorite mousemaid for the remainder of that season. The very evening of Sister Marisol's burial, Vanessa went up to the Infirmary and immersed herself in the healer's notes and journals. Deep in study did she remain until summer was almost upon Mossflower, and on some days she would not be seen by any of her fellow Abbeybeasts except for the kitchen helpers who delivered her meals to her where she read.

Highwing, meanwhile, continued to excel in class and deepen his friendships with the other Redwallers. Since birds grow and mature more rapidly than the furred, ground-dwelling creatures, he easily outpaced all his young classmates and was soon helping Geoff and Trevor present each day's lessons. The Sparra was as able in the role of teacher's assistant as he was in composing verse, or matching staffs with his otter duelling mates ... all of which kept Highwing perfectly well occupied without having to rely on Vanessa during this busy time for her. He understood how seriously she took her new studies, and joined everybeast else at the Abbey in being as considerate toward her as he could.

Indeed, everybeast was being so respectful of Vanessa's study time that some of the Abbey leaders began to worry that she might push herself too hard if left solely to her own devices. And so it was that Abbot Arlyn paid her a visit in the Infirmary on one of the last days of spring.

Vanessa glanced up from the journal she was reading, one of Father Darrow's old records. "Oh, hello, Abbot," she greeted Arlyn. "Have you come to join me in another study session? Or brought another piece of ancient medical lore from the archives?"

"Not today," the older mouse smiled. "In fact, I've come to take something rather than bring it."

"Oh? What?"

"You!" Arlyn reached down and resolutely shut the book before Vanessa. "Do you realize how many beautiful days you've passed away shut up in here with these musty old tomes as your only companions? Well, I'll have no more of that, young lady! Spring is nearly over, and I'll not see you waste another day so fine as this. So put aside your studies for one day, and take some time to reacquaint yourself with our lush lawns, shady orchard, fragrant gardens and cool clear pond. And a stroll along the walltop wouldn't do you any harm either."

Vanessa laughed. "You make it sound like I've become a cave-dwelling hermit! Honestly! It's not like I haven't been out to enjoy all those wonderful meals we've had out on the lawns and in the orchard."

"Not all of them," Arlyn regarded her over the rim of his spectacles. "I can clearly remember one or two without you ... "

"I've been getting plenty of sunshine and fresh air," Vanessa protested.

"A creature can never get too much of either, especially on days such as this. Your time away from the Infirmary has been in mere snippets and snatches compared to the full length of these almost-summer days. And just look at where you're sitting - tucked back in a dusty corner, not even near an open window. No, my dear, I'm afraid this will never do. I want you outdoors for the remainder of today ... and that's an order from your Abbot!"

"But ... there's still so much here I have to learn!"

"And it will all still be here tomorrow," Arlyn cut her off before she could argue further. "And the day after that, and the day after that. But this day, once it ends, will be gone forever, never to be retrieved or relived, except in memory. You, Vanessa, need to make memories of something other than slaving away alone up here with your studies. All work and no play makes Vanessa a dull mouse!"

The young mousemaid had to chuckle in spite of herself. "Okay, okay! A compromise, then?" She picked up Darrow's journal and came out from behind the desk. "I'll wander Redwall's lawns and paths until my footpaws are sore, at your behest. But I'll take this along, in case a sunny spot or friendly shady nook captures my fancy and I decide to rest there for awhile. I'm sure you'll have no objections if I continue my studies outside, will you?"

"Welll ... I was hoping you'd set aside your studies altogether for an afternoon. It's a proven fact, you know, that a beast learns better when the mind is rested. But, if this is what it takes to get you outdoors - it's a deal!" Arlyn rested a paw on her shoulder as they walked out of the Infirmary together. The Abbot glanced aside to take in all the empty beds as they passed through the large room. "I really don't know why you're in such a hurry to read all those records. You've only had, what, two or three scraped knees and half a dozen upset stomachs in all the time you've been our Infirmary keeper. There's not a single sickbeast in all the Abbey at the moment, and nothing's very likely to come up that you wouldn't be able to manage with your present knowledge. So why push yourself?"

Vanessa shrugged as they exited into the corridor. "Better safe than sorry, I guess."

00000000000

Later that afternoon, after she'd spent time on the walltop and in the orchard and taking a hearty lunch with her fellow Redwallers out on the Abbey lawns, Vanessa strolled along the eastern grounds, enjoying the soft carpet of grass against her naked paws even as her snout was buried studiously in the journal she'd brought outside with her. The meal of nutmeg yellow cheese and apple salad rumbled happily in her stomach, but Vanessa was as oblivious to that as she was to the cheery noise of summer sounds all around her. The laughter and voices of playing children and relaxing adults mingled with the background buzz of whirring and chirruping insects, punctuated by the trills and cheeps of birdsong. Somewhere off over her shoulder she distantly heard the ruckus of Highwing and Monty having another of their staff jousts; the clacking of their staves and friendly shouts of challenge blended into the general background noise on the fringes of her awareness.

The attack came utterly without warning. The whisper of wind from flapping wings had barely hit the back of her scalp when Vanessa felt talons grip her shoulders and a heavy blow bore her forward. The swooping Sparra was not content to simply ram her with its body; the claws that were locked onto her collarbones tumbled the mousemaid roughly and painfully onto her face into the grass. The precious journal flew from her paws, landing several paces away.

Her attacker clung to her until they hit the ground together. Then, knocked clear by the impact, the bird rolled free of her. Recovering her senses, Vanessa got to her knees. Before her, the hostile sparrow regrouped and regained its footing. With hate blazing in its black eyes, the bird took a menacing hop toward her.

Vanessa braced herself for a renewed attack. But the Sparra paused after that solitary hop, still beyond striking distance, its attention split between her and something else behind her. After several long moments of indecision, the bird turned away and shot into the sky, wings flapping furiously.

The sound of racing footpaws reached Vanessa's ears, and Montybank sped past her, waving his javelin wildly at the ascending foebird. Highwing followed on the otter's heels, his own staff discarded in haste, but no less keen than Monty to rush to Vanessa's defense, even unarmed.

Montybank skidded to a halt after several paces, satisfied that the attacker was fleeing and did not mean to return. Hastening back to Vanessa's side, he helped her to her feet, still keeping an eye toward the sky. "Easy does it, Nessie. Are y'wounded bad?"

"I don't think so ... Monty, look!" The otter spun round to follow the mousemaid's pointing paw.

Highwing had not broken off the pursuit. Flapping his wings as he raced along the ground beneath the other Sparra, giving in to the natural instinct born in every bird, Highwing slowly and awkwardly lifted off the greensward and rose toward Vanessa's attacker. For a moment he faltered, as surprised as anybeast that he was actually flying; then he tucked up his legs and applied himself to the task with renewed vigor. His bad wing made his flight somewhat floppy and lopsided, but there was no denying that he was truly flying, as surely as any bird had ever flown.

As Vanessa and Monty stood watching, spellbound, the two sparrows ascended to the very heights of Redwall's tallest roof peaks. The attacker, now the pursued, probably could have easily outmaneuvered Highwing but seemed so surprised at being followed that it panicked and automatically made straight for the imagined safety of its home loft. With its superior flying ability, it reached its goal far ahead of Highwing.

"Uh-oh," Monty observed, "looks like our matey's gone an' stirred up a hornet's nest!"

The belligerent sparrow must have been calling out for help from its companions in the roofspaces before it even reached the eaves, for Highwing was immediately besieged by half a dozen more of the aggressive birds.

"Oh no!" Vanessa wailed, watching helplessly from far below. "Those bullies are ganging up on him!"

Highwing may have been a brave creature, but his thorough Redwall education had also taught him when to heed discretion as the better part of valor. Finding himself suddenly outnumbered, he needed no second bidding to beat a hasty retreat. He dropped like a stone back toward the lawns. The others chased after him, but now the very same limpness of wing that had worked against him during his ascent became his ally. The young Sparra's flight path wobbled and wavered so unpredictably that every time the others lashed out with bill or talon to strike at him, Highwing was never where they expected him to be, and their assaults met empty air. In this fashion, the perilous game of tag spiralled down almost to the Abbey lawns.

Then, at very nearly the last moment, the pursuing sparrows broke off the chase and swooped skyward again in an abrupt arc. The sight of Montybank standing ready to greet them, his twirling javelin whistling in menace, was enough to make them think twice about pressing their attack.

Highwing, unfortunately, ended his first flying experience on a decidedly less graceful note. Unable to reduce his speed as expertly as his more seasoned foes, he crashed into the lawn in a skidding tumble. Only the late-spring softness of the living green carpet saved him from serious harm.

"Highwing!" Vanessa cried, running over to him. "You can fly!"

"Hmm, harrumph! Yes, so it appears," Highwing said, ruffling his feathers all over as Vanessa and Montybank helped him up from his rather undignified sprawl. "But it would seem I still need to work on my landings."

"Aye," the otter heartily agreed, "made me bones shake in me flesh just watchin' you come down like that. Hard t'believe y'didn't kill yerself!"

Highwing tested all his limbs. "Naught broken but my dignity. What about you, Vanessa? Did that ruffian cause you any harm?"

"Yeah," Monty added, picking at some small rents in the fabric of Vanessa's habit, up near the shoulders where the attacking bird's talons had gripped her. "Looks t'me like he might've pricked you apiece."

"Yes, it stings a little, but I don't think it's bleeding, or at least not much," Vanessa said, retrieving the book she'd lost in the scuffle. "I'll have Abbot Arlyn take a look at it, and apply any remedy he sees fit. Even the most skilled healer can't always tend to herself, I suppose."

"Yah," said Monty, "an' while we're at it, we c'n ask him wot we're gonna do 'bout those pesky featherbags, afore one of 'em does somebeast some real hurt."

"A very good idea," Highwing nodded. "Let's go find him right away."

Vanessa brushed off her treasured volume, examining it to make sure it hadn't suffered any major damage, then fell into step behind her two friends, the journal tucked firmly at her side.

00000000000

"I just don't know," Arlyn sighed as he dabbed at Vanessa's shoulder scratches with a moistened compress. "These Sparra are getting to be quite a problem - uh, no offense, Highwing - "

"None taken," the sparrow said from his perch atop an adjoining Infirmary bed.

" - but as to what we can do about it ... " The Abbot shook his head slowly. "Those winged creatures rule the roost when it comes to the Abbey roofspaces, and Redwall's designers never allowed for any easy access to those attics from inside. I suppose we could organize a force of squirrels to climb up to the roof and go in through the eaves, but even if we succeeded in chasing them all away, how could we keep the Sparra from returning? I don't want to start an all-out war with them if we can avoid it. On the other paw, we cannot allow this danger to go unanswered. We can't have everybeast in the Abbey afraid to go out onto our grounds for fear of an unprovoked attack from above."

"Shore was unprovoked this time 'round," Montybank testified from Vanessa's side. "Nessie 'ere t'weren't doin' nothin' but strollin' along, mindin' nobeast's business but her own. Sneak attack, took us all by surprise."

"I feel somewhat responsible myself," Arlyn admitted. "If I hadn't practically ordered you outside, Vanessa, this never would have happened."

"Don't be silly, sir!" Vanessa protested. "You were absolutely right that I'd been spending too much time up here, and needed to get out more. There's only one creature who's to blame for this, and that's the nastybird who did this to me."

"Altho'," put in Monty, "if'n it hadn't been fer this little rigamorole, we never woulda guessed Highwing could well an' truly fly."

The young sparrow gave his plumage a thorough ruffle. "I shudder to think that it would take the threat of bodily harm to a dear friend as the cost of making such a discovery. If that's the price, I would just as soon have remained ignorant of my flying ability."

"But you did do rather well," Vanessa told him encouragingly, then winced as the Abbot swabbed at a particularly tender spot on her collarbone.

"From the account you three have given me," said Arlyn, "I'd say you're very lucky that I don't have two patients to tend to up here instead of just one." He set aside his poultices. "There, that finishes that. None of those scrapes were very deep, Vanessa, so I don't think there's any need to bandage them. But there does seem to be a fair amount of bruising under the fur. Nothing to be done for that, I'm afraid, except to let it take care of itself. You'll be sore for a few days, but all in all, I'd say things turned out far better than they could have."

"Yes, I suppose ... " Vanessa let the Abbot and Monty help her pull her habit fully back on, favoring her tender shoulders. "I wonder if that was the same Grym Sparra who attacked me before? I really didn't get a good enough look at him this time to see, it all happened so fast ... not that I'd easily be able to tell one sparrow from another anyway. But if it was, why would he come after me, when Highwing was his target before?"

"'Cos 'ee's a coward, like all bullies," Montybank spat. "Highwing 'n' me were t'gether, an' we was armed. No craven raven's gonna chance a fight with two armed an' skilled warriorbeasts. You was just a soli'try mousemaid, walkin' along all alone - jus' th' kind o' hapless victim a villain like that'n would look fer."

"Montybank's probably right," Arlyn nodded. "You were most likely a target of opportunity. Although, if that was the one called Grym, he might have remembered you after all, Vanessa. Bullies like that aren't accustomed to having anybeast stand up to them, and your sandal-club may have made quite an impression on him. Could be that he holds a grudge against you."

Highwing shook his head in sad bewilderment. "How I could be kinfolk to any creature such as that I'll never understand."

Monty thumped his birdfriend hard between the wing blades. "That's 'cos you've 'ad a proper Redwall upbringin'! Not like those feathered brutes up in yon roofspaces."

"They're welcome to the same education and friendship anytime they want it," said the Abbot. "All they have to do is ask."

"Not much chance o' that," grumbled the otter.

"Which leaves us with the question of what we're going to do about these attacks," Vanessa said. "If they continue, it's just a matter of time before somebeast gets seriously injured. I'm especially concerned for the children."

"Yes, I know," said Arlyn. "I see no need to court disaster, so as of now I'm issuing the following rule. I doubt these Sparra would trouble any of our sturdy otters or stout squirrels, but the smaller creatures must take steps to safeguard themselves. Henceforth, I do not want any mouse, mole or hedgehog to go out onto the grounds except in groups of three or more, or unless accompanied by an otter or squirrel ... or Mother Maura. That goes for you, too, Highwing. You may be able to fly now, but I wouldn't like to see the results if a gang of those winged hooligans caught you alone and unawares."

"Not t'worry, sir," Monty assured the Abbot, "I'll be keepin' a weather eye out fer me ol' feathermate 'ere. Won't let 'im leave me side, 'til you says otherwise."

"Actually, Montybank, I was just going to ask you to go tell the other otters of my decision. An Abbot's decree doesn't mean much if it's kept a secret among us four up here in the Infirmary. Highwing can help you, unless he wants to stay here with Vanessa. Tell Alexander to let all his fellow squirrels know, too. From now on, you otters and squirrels will be our safeguard against any more attacks. When those Sparra see you patrolling the grounds and escorting your fellow Redwallers, they'll think twice about knocking any of us down again. I'll make the general announcement tonight at supper in Great Hall. Until then, guard well anybeasts who are out and about."

Monty turned to go. "Lemme stir me rudder then an' go spread th' word. You comin', messmate?"

"No," Highwing shook his head, "I'll stay here with Vanessa."

"Righto. See you all later, then. Don't 'ave a worry, Abbot, I'll get yore orders given out quick an' sharpish to all me mates. Won't nobird cause us anymore hassle this day!"

After the otter was gone, Vanessa worried aloud, "So much for an outdoors Nameday feast this season ... and with summer almost upon us! I guess we'll have to hold it in Great Hall again. There will be a lot of disappointment - so many of us were looking forward to holding the celebration out on the lawns."

"Then, by all means, let us hold it outside," Arlyn said resolutely. "The worst thing we could do, I think, would be to let those Sparra bully us into submission, and abandon our greatest festival of the season. It's one thing to take a few precautions, as I've just done, and quite another to rearrange our whole way of life out of fear. No Abbot or Abbess before me has ever yielded to such villainous strongpaw tactics, and I won't be the first. These attacks may have put us a little on edge and will keep us alert and on our toes, but I'm not about to be intimidated in my own Abbey! Let the feast go on as planned, I say! And for entertainment, we'll have all the otters jousting, and an archery tournament for the squirrels, too. Any winged troublemakers who think they can ruin our festivities are welcome to try!"

Vanessa was slightly taken aback; seldom had she ever heard her mild-mannered Abbot speak with such indignant firmness or resolve. "But, we don't even know yet what name this summer will have. You speak as if we'll be holding the feast right away."

"And so we shall," said Arlyn. "After today's events, there can be but one name for this season."

"What?" Vanessa and Highwing asked as one, leaning forward expectantly.

The Abbot laid a paw on each of their shoulders. "Why, the Summer of the Flying Sparrow, of course!"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The longest day of the year came and went. Nameday was a tremendous success, held out on the lawns under a sky of robin's-egg blue and abundant sunshine. The only Sparra in evidence at the festivities was the one having the season named in his honor, and so the feast was an occasion for making many good memories. The food and drink were all up to the usual Redwall standards and them some, while the singing and performing were the best that the Abbey had seen in seasons. Highwing and the otters took turns singing old songs and new, as did Jovey and the hedgehogs. This was followed by the jousting and archery contests, and anybeast who declined to actually participate in these events still stayed nearby in order to watch them. Any foe, bird or beast, who might have tried to intrude upon the festivities of that bright and joyful day would have sorely regretted its transgression, at the points of javelins and arrows.

No sooner had Nameday passed than the full sweltering brunt of summer settled in over Mossflower country like a sultry mantle. The otters were joined for their customary swims in the Abbey pond by nearly every other Redwaller during those stifling early days of that season - even the squirrels, who normally hated getting their big bushy tails wet, and one or two of the more daring moles, who waded in as far as their waists. As for the children, it made no difference what species they were; every one insisted on a daily paddle or leapfrog in the shallows. The Summer of the Flying Sparrow would go down in the annals of Redwall as one of the hottest ever.

The Abbot's edict regarding the Sparra threat remained in effect, but this new danger did little to alter the daily routines of the Abbeybeasts. The otters, who were normally out and about during the warmer seasons as a matter of course, were so boisterous and good-natured that their armed patrols seemed less like a response to some crisis and more like a new social nicety; everybeast enjoyed walking and talking with the otters. For that matter, the good creatures of Redwall were all so fond of each other that the necessity of going about in groups was no hardship at all. Every outdoor chore and errand became a cause for chatting and singing, chasing away the shadow of menace with the brightness of their cheerful comradeship. Only the squirrel archers of Redwall, who went about their walltop sentry duties with more stolid determination than their otter compatriots, gave any outward sign that anything other than full peace reigned over the Abbey.

And as for the Sparra at the center of it all, well, now that Highwing had proven he could fly, he wasted no opportunity to show off his skills and improve them. While Vanessa and the Abbot worried about his occasional brashness and bravado over his newfound ability and urged him to take it easy, they knew there was no way to deny a winged creature its natural desire to escape the bounds of earth and gravity. As a compromise, Highwing agreed to limit his flights mostly to times when Montybank and Alexander were present to watch out for him, and never when the other sparrows were out in force.

One of Highwing's favorite tricks came to be launching himself from the higher parts of the outer wall and either gliding down to a soft landing or soaring upward as high as he could and circling above the Abbey. As his skills improved, he would aim for a specific tree or branch to alight upon. Sometimes he would make it, but as often as not the young sparrow would end his flight in an ignominious heap of feathers beneath his intended target. Once he even flew up to the very highest peak of the Abbey's roof and perched momentarily, in triumph, near the weathervane before the other Sparra rallied and chased him back down to the ground. By now Highwing had become well enough acquainted with his off-kilter flying patterns to elude his pursuers by design, and not just accidentally. The Abbot admonished him sharply after that incident for taking foolish chances, but it was impossible to make the chastisement stick; Highwing's close friendship with Monty had caused some of the otter's carefree attitude to rub off on the young sparrow, and Highwing could not be made to see he'd done anything amiss. In the end, Arlyn was left no choice but to throw up his paws and shake his head, muttering, "Birds! Seasons save us from them all, be they friend or foe!"

00000000000

Ten days into the unrelenting heat wave, Vanessa was taking an afternoon stroll beneath the cool shade of the orchard. She'd taken to heart Abbot Arlyn's advice that she needed to get out of the Infirmary more, and not just because he was right about that. Indeed, ever since the attack, Vanessa had made a point of taking at least one long outdoor walk every day, as an open act of defiance against the enemy birds and a gesture that she, like the rest of Redwall, would not be cowed by their aggressive and warlike ways.

A jostling, fluttering commotion in the branches of a damson tree just ahead caused Vanessa to stop and look up ... just in time to witness Highwing tumbling down to the soft ground in a flurry of feathers, flailing talons and flapping wings.

"You know," she remarked as her Sparra friend righted himself, "one of these days you're really going to hurt yourself doing that."

"Nonsense!" Highwing scoffed in a grandiose manner, ruffling his plumage back into alignment. "I'm a natural-born flyer, well-versed in the ways of air and wind."

"It's the ways of earth and tree branches you should be more concerned with, considering how often you fly into them!"

"Oh, now you sound like Monty," said Highwing.

"Well, even that knucklehead of an otter can come out with some good sense once in awhile."

"I'm afraid you're both right," Highwing conceded with a sigh. "The one weak link in the chain of my flying career is my landings - the chink in my armor, the spanner in my gears, the rain on my parade - "

"Yes, yes, yes," Vanessa interrupted, "I get your point already! But it seems to me the landings are rather a crucial part of flying. Isn't that somewhat like saying you can swim like a fish, except for figuring out the part about holding your breath?"

Highwing cocked his head. "Why would a fish need to hold its breath?"

Vanessa swung a playful paw at him. "You scamp, you know what I mean!"

"I'm sure I don't, ma'am, since I've never done much swimming myself, and the only conversation I've ever had with fish has been with the ones on my plate during our Nameday feasts. However, your point is well taken. My landings will improve with practice. They must, since they can't get any worse!"

Vanessa smirked. "Uh-hmm. So long as you don't kill yourself in the process!" Loosening her waist cord, she billowed out the front of her habit to cool herself a little. "I swear, I don't remember when there was ever a stretch of weather like this! I hope it breaks soon; this heat is atrocious, even in the shade."

"Well, then, allow me to help you in this regard," Highwing offered. "Lend me your habit for a moment, please, if you'd be so kind."

Vanessa eyed her birdfriend a tad suspiciously. "And what would you want with a mouse's habit?"

"Just give it to me, and you'll see ... "

Vanessa mulled it over for a moment, then pulled off her garment. It was some relief to free her perspiration-matted body fur from her robes. "I'm only doing this because it's so hot. There you go; now that I've indulged you, this had better be good!"

"Just something I want to try." Taking the habit from her, Highwing grappled awkwardly with it with beak, talons and wings; it almost looked as if he were wrestling with the article of clothing. Other Redwallers who were out enjoying the comparative cool of the orchard watched from a distance, intrigued first by seeing their young Infirmary keeper stripping off her habit and now by the even more unusual sight of their resident Sparra engaged in this odd activity. Two of the burly otter patrols lounging against the trunk of a spreading pear tree nudged each other and snickered.

"Highwing, what are you doing?" Vanessa demanded, suddenly self-conscious about standing unclothed out in the middle of the orchard. "Everybeast's staring at us! What, are you trying to put on my habit? Don't be ridiculous! It'll never fit you!"

The bird ignored her, thrashing and floundering this way and that as he struggled with the garment. Highwing was trying to stick his wings through the habit sleeves, and failing miserably; as voluminous as the sleeves were, they were still nowhere near spacious enough to accommodate the sparrow's wide, feathered limb. At last he collapsed onto his back, hood covering his eyes and all four limbs thoroughly entangled in the fabric.

One of the otters sauntered over to them. Regarding Vanessa, he inquired, "'scuse me, marm, but is this bird botherin' you?" He was barely surpressing his laughter.

Vanessa had to fight off her own fit of giggles at the absurdity of the situation. At least the otter had doffed his own vest, so she was in like company; she didn't know what she'd have done if the Abbot happened by and saw her like this.

"Why, no, Stroker, he's not bothering me at all. My habit, on the other paw, seems to be giving him no end of trouble!"

"So I sees." Stroker gave the shapeless pile of fabric and feathers a light tap with his javenlin, just above where the sparrow's beak protruded. "Ahoy! You all right in there, matey?"

"I'll be fine, if some rudebeast stops knocking my noggin!" Highwing tossed his head several times, until at last the cowl was thrown back from his eyes. Blinking at mouse and otter, he sighed and said, "Well, that didn't go exactly as planned."

"Whatever were you thinking?" Vanessa asked as she bent down to help Highwing extricate himself from the mess he'd created.

"Well, I was just talking with Abbot Arlyn before flying out here to find you," Highwing explained. "I told him I'd like to become a full brother of the Redwall order, and he said he'd be more than happy to make it official."

Stroker shook his head. "Hold a sec," the otter said in confusion, "I thought only mousefolk could belong to th' order."

"Oh no," Highwing corrected. "Any creature can be accepted into the order, as long as it takes the vow to live by Redwall's ways and stays true to that oath. In fact, the Abbot told me there have even been Abbots and Abbessess in the past who've been squirrels and hedgehogs and even moles ... "

Stroker snorted a laugh. "A mole Abbot, y'say? 'ow'd 'ee ever get anybeast t'unnerstand 'im? Hey, d'you think there's ever been an otter Abbot or Abbess?"

"The subject didn't come up." Highwing started to shrug and peck his way out of the habit tangled about him; it would have been a lost cause without Vanessa and Stroker there to lend a paw. "Anyway, I just wanted to see how one of your habits would fit me. If I'm to be a member of the Redwall order, I'll need one, won't I? Maybe one with wider sleeves, from one of our more, um, well-built brothers or sisters."

"There's no sleeve on any habit in all of Redwall that won't get your wing feathers all scrunched up," Vanessa said. "But I've got an idea. Here - " She draped her robe loosely over Highwing, leaving the hood back and the sleeves hanging empty at his sides. "There. What you'll need is something like that. An open, sleeveless cloak that'll leave your wings free for flying, and still mark you as a brother of the order. This is all rumpled now because there's too much extra fabric, but with the right cut, that would be a downright dashing bit of birdwear."

"An excellent idea!" Highwing enthused. "Sister Grace can measure me and make up a proper cloak custom fit for my size and shape."

Vanessa knotted her habit cord around her waist. "Then let's go pay a visit to our good seamstress right now!"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Sister Grace raised an eyebrow when Vanessa strode into the sewing room wearing nothing but her belt cord and a smile. Grace's other eyebrow went up when Highwing stumbled in after the mousemaid, haphazardly draped in Vanessa's habit.

They explained what they wanted done, and Grace immediately went into a flurry of activity, making Highwing stand upon a dress-fashioner's box near a well-lit window while she fished out bolts of fabric and cutting tools to commence the project. She gave Vanessa back her habit, but the younger mouse cast it aside for the moment.

Grace shook her head in admiration. "Long ago, when I too was a fetching young mousemaid like yourself, I might have dared to go traipsing about the Abbey like that. If I tried walking about in the buff these days, everybeast would run screaming."

"But, Sister Grace, I'm not totally in the buff," Vanessa playfully protested, twirling the loose end of her waistcord. "See?" she grinned. Her carefree encounter with Stroker had left her feeling decidedly less inhibited than when she'd first given Highwing her habit.

"Oh, you shameless creature!" Grace laughed. "But, I have to admit, I've been mighty tempted to doff my own robes more than once these past few days. I suppose oldsters like me just have to content ourselves with paddling our paws in the pond. Anything to beat the heat!"

"You're telling me. Days like these, I almost wish I could take off all my fur, too!"

"Now wouldn't that be a sight!" Grace said. "You'd be none too pretty to look at, without any fur. Uughh! Makes me shudder, just thinking about a furless mouse!"

"Oh? Then what about a furless squirrel?"

"Heehee! Then their tails would look just like ours! How about a furless mole?"

"They'd burrow underground and never come up again, modest as moles are! Ha! Here's one for you - a furless otter!"

"Oh, they'd dive into the pond and not resurface 'til nightfall!"

"Are you joking? Our otters are far more shameless than I, and wouldn't think twice about baring it all. They'd probably revel in it!"

The two mice took a moment to catch their breath, then looked each other in the eye and blurted out, in unison, "Spikeless hedgehogs!" Vanessa literally fell back onto her tail, she was laughing so hard.

"Ahem!" Highwing loudly cleared his throat. "While you ladies are amusing yourselves over the idea of repellently naked creatures, here stand I, naked as a jaybird. Wasn't the whole idea to make something to cover me up with?"

"Oh? Then how's about this?" Giggling, Sister Grace cast an unrolled sheet of greencloth over the sparrow's head. "There! I've always heard that a covered bird never squawks, because it thinks it's night. Let's see if it works!"

"Don't count on it," Vanessa snickered, picking herself up off the floor.

"No, don't indeed," Highwing said from beneath his shroud, then pulled it off with one talon and offered the fabric back to Grace. "The fit is not quite right. I suggest you tailor it a bit, otherwise I'll be flying into trees!"

"Oh, and how would that be any different from the way you fly now?" Grace asked, triggering off a whole new set of titters from the two mice. Vanessa plucked at one of Highwing's tailfeathers.

"Hey, Sister Grace, here's one we missed: a sparrow without feathers!"

Highwing ruffled in indignation. "If this is how it's going to be, I'll just be off ... " And he started to step down from the fitter's box.

Grace halted him with upraised paws. "We're sorry, Highwing. Please don't go. We just caught a bad case of the sillies, but we're over it now. Nothing wrong with a few laughs before getting down to work, is there?"

Mollified, Highwing resumed his tailoring pose on the box, while Grace began the job of draping, pinning, marking and measuring the fabric for the bird's cloak.

Vanessa collapsed into a highbacked wing chair, still giggling slightly. "Gracious! Between all that laughing and this heat, I'm feeling positively faint!"

"Then close your eyes and take a rest," advised the older mouse. "Many's the time that comfy, overstuffed chair lured me to sleep on a warm summer afternoon."

"But please don't snore," Highwing added.

Vanessa shut one eye. "I never do snore!"

"Oh, not really," the Sparra mocked. "Only like a winter's gale that shakes the shingles from the roof."

"And how would you know that?"

"Ah, how soon they forget!" Highwing clacked his beak in amusement. "All those nights we spent huddled together down in Cavern Hole this past winter, when I was but a babechick, newly fallen from the sky. If any creature would know whether or not you snore, t'would be I."

"Well, you snore too, featherbrain," Vanessa retorted, both eyes now closed.

"I, snore? Never! Sparra do not snore in our sleep. Rather, we cheep, chirp, chirrup, tweet, trill, sing, whistle, warble, croon, twitter, peep, cluck, coo ... "

But Vanessa was no longer listening. The laughing and heat of the day had indeed taken their toll, and now her chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of slumber. Sister Grace quietly crossed over to the chair and gently covered Vanessa with her habit, then returned to the task of Highwing's cloak.

00000000000

Two days later, after a little experimenting, Highwing had his flying cape.

The first version of the garment that Sister Grace fashioned for the sparrow was sleeveless, but otherwise contained almost as much fabric as a regular Redwall habit. The idea was that Highwing would be able to close the robes completely around him when he was standing at rest, and still have them free to trail after him when he flew. Unfortunately, that much loose cloth got in the way of his wings, and Highwing's test flights ended in several ungainly bumpy landings and one spectacular collision with the upper branches of an apple tree; this last misadventure left him dangling talons up and head down, ensnared within his own vestments until Alexander and his fellow squirrels could carefully untangle him. Clearly, modifications were called for.

The final version, arrived at through some additional trial and error, eliminated fully two-thirds of the material from the original design, as well as the hood, once it was demonstrated that there was no easy way for a bird to pull a cowl up over its head without the help of another creature. (Highwing's efforts to bear this out provided his otter audience with hearty laughter aplenty.) What remained was more of a narrow half-cape, latched at the neck by a simple clasp which Highwing could easily open or close with one talon. The small size was less than the young sparrow had hoped for, but it would not encumber his flight. As for the color, Highwing had insisted on novice green, the same as Vanessa wore.

"But Highwing," Vanessa had said to him, "all the full brothers and sisters of the order wear brown robes, not green ones. Those are for novices."

The bird looked her up and down. "You're still wearing green, and you've been Infirmary keeper for almost a season now."

"Uh, um ... well, I still feel like a novice in that position, and Abbot Arlyn said I could keep wearing the green habits for as long as I like."

"Can't fool me," Highwing winked at her. "You just like the color."

"So what if I do?" the mousemaid asked defensively.

"So nothing at all! I happen to think it sets off your eyes quite beautifully. You should stick with it. But, if it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me too, and go hang tradition."

"Hmm. It's times like these that your otter pedigree shows through," Vanessa smirked. "Just don't let the Abbot hear you talking like that, or he'll have us both forcibly tied into brown habits for the rest of this sweltering season!"

After his final test flight, Highwing fluttered down to the lawn where Vanessa, Grace, Montybank and Alexander awaited. For a change, his landing went rather smoothly as he bounced onto the thick living carpet in a bobbing stop.

"Well, that looks to suit you," Sister Grace commented. "From where we stood, that cape didn't seem to hinder your flying at all. How did it feel?"

"Most satisfactory, from a purely practical standpoint, I suppose," Highwing replied. "But it's hardly a proper habit, is it? Will this cape really identify me as a Brother of the Redwall Order to everybeast I meet in Mossflower?"

"You've already tried a more fully proper habit," Alex reminded him, "and the results were rather, um, disastrous."

"And by making it green instead of brown," Grace added, "it's more clearly visible. It might not be the same color that the other brothers and sisters wear, but since birds don't normally wear clothes of any kind, yes, I think that cape will mark you as a Redwaller."

"I think it will be just fine," seconded Vanessa. "No other sparrow in all of Mossflower has ever been gifted with a raiment so true and deserving. You will stand out at a glance as a creature of Redwall."

This greatly mollified Highwing. "Well, that's what's important. That, and being able to fly."

A gaggle of the Abbey children approached, being skillfully herded by Maura the badger; ever since the second day of the heat wave, when Brother Trevor was brought face to face with the truth that such weather made his students incapable of sitting still for lessons, the youngsters had all been under the care of Redwall's badger Mother, who watched over them as they played and cavorted out on the Abbey grounds.

"All done with your flying?" Maura asked Highwing. "You were keeping these tykes well entertained, but I kept them at a distance in case you came in for another one of your famous crash landings."

Highwing puffed out his breast feathers indignantly. "Brothers of the Redwall Order do NOT have crash landings, my good lady!"

"Oh," the badger retorted wryly, "then that must've been some other cocky young lopsided birdbrain I've seen plowing up furrows in our lawns with its beak." The children gathered around Maura's hem giggled and squealed in appreciation of her expert put-down of the pompous Sparra.

Highwing pointedly ignored the jibe, turning his back to his audience and spreading his wings wide to display the cape. "So, what do you think?"

"Well, when you hold your wings up like that, the cape sort of gets lost in the plumage," Maura said. "Put them down at your side ... ahhh, that's better. Yes, it does look very smart. Almost regal, in fact. That's funny - even though it's cut from the same cloth as the regular novices' habits, on you it looks more like finery. You could pass for Sparra royalty!"

Highwing actually appeared crestfallen at this assessment. "That's hardly fitting, all my fellow brothers and sisters walking about in humble robes, while I'm decked out like a viscount of the winged folk. The whole point was for me to blend in with everybeast else here. Sister Grace, maybe you should use the brown cloth after all ... to make it plainer."

"Plainer? After you twisted my paw to get me to use the green cloth? Why don't I just trade it in for gray sackcloth or dingy burlap instead? No, I've already put quite enough work into this garment over the last two days. You've got something now that looks just fine and doesn't hamper your flying; I should think that would be enough to satisfy you."

"Aw, you oughtta know by now, Sister, our birdfriend 'ere's never satisfied when there's more t' be got!" Monty laughed.

Highwing hung his head, abashed. "I didn't mean to belittle your efforts, Sister Grace. Please forgive me."

"No apology necessary," Grace said, ruffling his neck feathers affectionately. "But this cape really does look good on you, if I do say so myself. If I were you, I'd want to keep it just the way it is."

"She's right," agreed Vanessa. "That cape is a perfect fit for you ... and it sets off your eyes quite beautifully!"

Highwing held his head up high again. "Then I'll keep it and wear it proudly, and thank you, Sister Grace, for providing me with such a fine garment!"

Montybank thumped him on the back, right in the middle of Highwing's new cloak. "Looks like yore just gonna hafta get used t' bein' King Bird, matey!"


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The heat snap broke the following day, with a heavy rainstorm that lasted two days and chilled the nights to a cold dampness that felt almost wintry after so many sweltering afternoons. Vanessa was kept quite busy in the storm's aftermath; the sudden weather change produced its fair share of chills, aches, sniffles and sore throats among the Abbeydwellers. But, as fate would have it, Vanessa's real work was only just beginning.

For much of that summer, which had begun with such a prolonged stretch of burning heat, the weather see-sawed between two extremes. Days of torrid sunshine would be followed by periods of gray chill and rain, only to be replaced by more furnace temperatures, and then more unseasonable cold. Nobeast at the Abbey could remember anything like it. The rainy spells kept the Abbey pond high and all the crops well-watered, so there was no danger of drought or famine. But the wild variations of climate took their toll on the health of the Redwallers, and there were times during the Summer of the Flying Sparrow that every bed in the Infirmary was filled, and Vanessa spent more than one sleepless night ministering to her patients.

It was during the third round of cold and damp that a rash of more serious fever broke out. Abbot Arlyn had been helping Vanessa all along, and now his wisdom and experience came into play.

"Yes," he said to Vanessa one evening, after they'd finished examining several of their striken friends, "I recognize these symptoms. Greenwood Fever, I believe it's called - had a case of it myself when I was a young novice mouse. Darrow was Infirmary keeper back then, since that was shortly before he became Abbot. I don't think there's been a single case at Redwall since. The disease is seldom fatal, although it can be quite serious unless treated properly, especially in children and the very old. Fortunately ... "

Arlyn went around behind Vanessa's desk and fumbled at the journals on the wall shelves there. "Let's see ... that would have been near the end of Darrow's term in the Infirmary, so it would probably be in the last of his diaries ... let's try this one ... "

Vanessa stood at his side as the Abbot flipped through the pages, running his paw down the columns of Darrow's meticulously neat writing. In very short order, Arlyn found what he was looking for. "Aha!" he declared, tapping the open journal on the desk before them, "here it is! The Autumn of the Silver Moonshadows, I remember it well ... although actually, I seem to recall my own illness as being in the springtime. But here I am, mentioned by name along with many other Redwallers who were suffering from Greenwood Fever at the same time. Funny the way memory can play tricks on you ... "

"Yes, yes," said Vanessa, trying not to be impatient with the older mouse, "but does it describe the proper treatment?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course it does, my child. What kind of Infirmary keeper would Darrow have been if he didn't keep track of his remedies?" Arlyn adjusted the spectacles perched on the tip of his snout. "Now then, let's see ... ah, here we are. What we need is a hot broth of cowslip, nettle leaves, lesser liverwort, and .. oh, dear, this will be tricky ... "

"What? What?" Vanessa leaned closer, staring down at the page herself.

"A pinch of deadly nightshade," the Abbot concluded.

"Huh? That can't be right! Deadly nightshade's poisonous!"

"In any quantity, and by itself, it usually is," said Arlyn. "But, in very small amounts, and mixed in with these other ingredients, deadly nightshade is a necessary part of the cure for Greenwood Fever. You see, Vanessa, even the more dangerous fruits of nature's bounty can have a useful purpose, if you know the secret."

"Hmm ... " Vanessa straightened, thoughtfully stroking her chin. "I don't believe we have any nightshade on paw ... or any of those other ingredients, for that matter, except maybe the nettles - "

"It's just as well," Arlyn interrupted, reading on. "According to Darrow's notes, all the ingredients should be freshly collected for the best results. Lucky for us it's the growing season; if this fever had hit us in the winter, we'd have no choice but to cope with our dried supplies."

"Well, if we'd been getting normal summer weather instead of this hot-cold silliness, there probably wouldn't even have been any fever outbreak," Vanessa observed. "Hey, do you suppose it's called Greenwood Fever because it's only around when the woods are all green?"

"I was wondering about the name myself," Arlyn said. "Yes, that would make sense. It certainly goes with Darrow's insistence on fresh ingredients. I suppose only a highly knowledgeable historian would know for sure."

"So," Vanessa shrugged, "what do we do about collecting what we need? You and I are the most skilled herbalists at Redwall, but we're both needed here too badly to be spared for any length of time to go romping about in the woods picking leaves."

"We'll send some of the otters out for that," Arlyn proposed. "They're just about the only ones at Redwall who haven't been struck by the fever yet."

"True. I've yet to have one of them as a patient for this particular malady. Perhaps they're just naturally resistent. But do you think they're knowledgeable enough about plants and herbs?"

"Oh, between the bunch of them they've got enough sense of herb lore to get the job done. And they know the woodlands hereabouts as well as anybeast and better than most; they should be able to locate the necessary plants in good time."

Arlyn scanned a little farther down the page, his brow furrowing as he did so. "Oh yes, I'd almost forgotten about that ... "

"About what?"

The Abbot finished what he was reading, then gazed back up at Vanessa. "You ought to know, I suppose, that Greenwood Fever hits the Sparrafolk much harder than it does us ground creatures. It's quite often fatal for them, in fact. Darrow makes mention of it right here, but I remember it well myself. That same season that I was sick, the fever took a terrible toll on the sparrows of Warbeak Loft. They lacked our healing skills, and without our help, the disease swept through them like a plague. Every few days, they'd push another carcass out the eaves down onto the lawns, since that was the only way they had to dispose of their dead. How many might have flown away to the depths of Mossflower to die alone there, we'll never know. For awhile it seemed as if they might be completely wiped out, but a few of the strongest survived the epidemic, and eventually more flew in from the farther reaches of Mossflower to settle here and join them."

Vanessa's face grew dire. "Oh, my ... what shall we do if Highwing comes down with this?"

"Why, then we'll treat him as we would any other patient," Arlyn answered. "Remember, it was their lack of healing skills and their refusal to accept our help that caused the Sparra to pay such a heavy cost during that last outbreak. If Highwing catches this fever, he will have what they didn't: the full benefit of our medical knowledge."

"Yes," Vanessa fretted, "but will that be enough? What if the remedy for birds isn't the same as it is for us?"

"Then we'll just have to find the right cure," the Abbot said, patting Vanessa's paw to comfort her. "I'll say this, though: I'd favor Highwing's chances with us over those of his fellow Sparra, if the Greenwood Fever breaks out in Warbeak Loft again."

00000000000

By summer's end, over half the mice at Redwall would have their turn in the Infirmary with Greenwood Fever, along with nearly every mole and many of the Abbey's other creatures as well. It was less of a crisis than it could have been, as things turned out; the day after Arlyn made his diagnosis, the otters successfully gathered from Mossflower all the ingredients needed for the cure, and that very evening saw Vanessa preparing the first batches of the medicinal broth and administering it to her patients.

While she and the Abbot were seeing to that, the otter crew who'd supplied the herbs for the medicine rewarded themselves with an impromptu meal of their famous hotroot and watershrimp stew. Highwing joined them around a large plain table in the kitchens, where the warmth of the ovens helped dispel the pallor of the unseasonably cold summer evening; the young Sparra had developed an affinity for the stew, no doubt a result of all the time spent in the otters' company.

The boisterous group had the kitchens to themselves, since Friar Hugh and his staff had cleared out to give the otters room to work. It was a well-known fact that no other cooking would get done when the otters were making their shrimp stew. As the price for being driven from his own domain, Hugh made the otters promise to make enough for everybeast in the Abbey, and spare him the task of preparing a full evening meal.

Highwing sucked and slurped his stew as loudly as any otter, sticking his beak into his bowl to pick out any of the chewy crustaceans he could find, or just to inhale the spicy broth. When his bowl ran low, he tipped it up with one talon, draining it as he craned his head back as far as it would go. Slamming the empty bowl on the tabletop, he clacked his beak approvingly. "Mmmm, scrumptious! A refill here, my good mates, if you'd be so kind!"

Montybank cheerfully ladeled out another brimful serving for his sparrow friend. "Here y'go, featherchops! 'ave yore fill, there's aplenty fer all!"

"That's right enuff," Stroker put in. "This weather may be bad news fer our sick friends up in th' 'firmary, but it's had a stimulatin' effect on everything from our garden crops to th' shrimp in our good ol' pond. I swear, them randy li'l critters are reproducin' faster'n we can et 'em up!"

Highwing put on a look of disbelief. "Impossible! No profusion of shrimp stocks could ever keep up with your appetite, Stroker!"

The otter grinned and tapped at Highwing's own bowl. "Look t'yerself, ye scallywag featherduster! Wot's that, yore fourth 'elping, or is it number five?"

"Only my third, alas." Highwing ducked his head for another loud slurp. "But what else is there for a solitary Sparra to do around here? Vanessa and the Abbot have forbidden me from being around anybeast who's got the fever. Apparently, they're afraid it would be worse for me, and they might not be able to cure me easily. So, since you thicktailed lugs are about the only ones at Redwall who haven't gotten sick yet, I guess I'm stuck with you!"

"You c'd do lots worse'n us, that's fer shore," Monty joked, then grew serious. "So, d'you think those leaves 'n' twigs we fetched from the woods t'day'll be enuff t'cope with this sickness?"

"Course it will!" Stroker declared with the utmost confidence. "'tween Nessie an' th' Abbot, no disease stands a chance at Redwall. Those two'll have every sickbeast up in the 'firmary on the road t' recovery by morn's first light, you can betcher rudders on it!"

"That leaves me out, since I'm rudderless," said Highwing. "Just as well, I suppose, since I never was a betting bird; besides, all I'd have to wager is this shrimp stew that sits before me, and I'd not be able to stomach losing that!"


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Stroker the otter's faith in Vanessa and the Abbot's healing skills was not unfounded; the fever's victims showed immediate improvement once they were fed the broth, and as new cases broke out in the days that followed, the patients were treated accordingly. Nobeast ended up spending more than two days in the Infirmary, and that proved to be a vital point: since so many of the Abbeydwellers would eventually suffer a bout with Greenwood Fever, it was important to have a quick turnaround to keep bedspace available for those who needed it most.

Of all the different creatures living at Redwall, only the otters as a group remained unaffected by the fever. Nor did Highwing succumb, which was a great relief to Vanessa, who worried all during the remainder of that season how she would cope with such a turn of events, since it was by no means certain that a sparrow would respond to the remedy as favorably as all of her furred patients had.

Alexander was one of the last to come down with the fever, as summer was drawing toward its end and the days were growing noticeably shorter. The young squirrel spent his two days in the Infirmary, suffering through the bowlfuls of Vanessa's bitter broth and the enforced bedrest that is always so hard on the energy-filled creatures of tender seasons. Finally, he was allowed up and about, with only a trace of a sniffle and general weakness as the last vestiges of his ordeal.

Highwing was out for a practice fly when he spotted Alexander walking along the walltop, and swooped down to alight on the battlements alongside his squirrel friend.

"Hey, that was one of your better landings!" Alex greeted him.

"I've been practicing." Highwing hopped from the crenellated stonework down onto the walkway. "Glad to see you're feeling back in sorts; Monty said you weren't one of Vanessa's more cooperative patients."

"It's tough spending two days stuck in bed, especially when you've gotta drink that horrid broth - uhgh!"

"Yes, I can imagine. I'll take a nice hot bowl of shrimp 'n' hotroot stew any day!"

"You don't have to tell me." Alex waved a paw in front of his nose. "I can smell it from here. You should go easier on that stuff, or you'll develop a permanent case of otter-breath!"

"It keeps me healthy," Highwing asserted. "You haven't seen me or any of the otters catch any of that nasty fever, have you?"

"That I haven't," Alex admitted. "Maybe there's something to that after all. Vanessa should - "

Alex was interrupted by a rustling of feathers and rush of flapping wings as a redbreasted robin alighted on the walltop right next to them. Thinking for an instant that it was another Sparra attack, Alex reached instinctively for the long knife in his belt; then, seeing that the bird was making no threatening moves and was in fact not a sparrow at all, he moved his paw away from the weapon's hilt.

The robin didn't miss the squirrel's subtle motion. "Whoa, whoa, no harm do I mean you!" the bird jabbered. "I'm a friend, just a friend!"

"Sorry 'bout that," Alex apologized. "We've been having some trouble with birds this past season. Not robins like yourself, just Sparra like this one here ... " He indicated Highwing. "I reacted automatically."

"Trouble, eh?" The robin cocked his head knowingly, his bright eyes blinking in the sun. "Cannot be worse than trouble them birds got now for themselves. Why I flew down here, to let you ground folks know."

"Uh, we appreciate it," Alexander thanked him. He'd been wondering why the robin had come; such a visit was uncommon, though not unheard of. Even though Redwall's hospitality was open to all creatures of good will, the feathered species rarely took advantage of it.

Highwing hopped right up to the robin. "Exactly what kind of trouble is going on up in Warbeak Loft?"

The other bird cast an amused eye at Highwing. "Ooo, such a wellspoke bird! An' what's that cape s'posed to be? You been spending too much time with groundcrawlers, friend!"

"Never mind my fashion sense, or my vocabulary. What's the trouble with the Sparra?"

"Sick, they all sick!"

Highwing and Alexander exchanged glances. "The Greenwood Fever?" Alex wondered aloud.

"That's a logical assumption." Highwing turned to the robin. "How do you know about this?"

"Just up there, taking look around. Didn't try an' stop me, like they usually do. Mean nasty Sparra, now justa buncha sickbirds, couldn't fight a Mayfly."

"How bad is it?" Highwing asked.

"Some dead, some dying, all pretty sick." The redbellied bird shrugged. "No matter to me, wish they'd all die, bully Sparra nothing but trouble for us decent birds. This your Abbey, Redwall always friend to my kinfolk, just thought you'd wanna know what's happening under your own roof, case you didn't already." And with that, the robin flapped off, giving the two Redwallers not so much as a backward glance.

"I should have realized something was wrong," Highwing said. "I've been doing lots of practice flying lately, and I haven't seen many Sparra about at all, not even when I've been high over the Abbey. I guess we were all just assuming the fever wouldn't affect them, since they're so far up and never have any contact with us. I wonder how long the sickness has been with them?"

"Awhile, probably, if some have already died," Alex surmised. "We should go inform the Abbot right away."

"You go." Highwing stepped clear of his squirrel companion to give himself wing room. "I'm flying up there to have a look for myself."

"No, it's not safe," Alexander warned, but Highwing was already airborn, flapping lopsidedly up toward the roof. Flustered, Alex raced down the nearest wall stairs to alert his fellow Redwallers.

00000000000

Highwing had not been in Warbeak Loft since the dim and forgotten days before he was cast out by the Sparra called Grym. But he'd flown by the outside of the sparrow's court many times since discovering he could fly, and he knew well all the various entrances under the eaves used by his estranged kinfolk. Guessing from the robin's report that there would be nobird standing sentry to challenge him, Highwing flew right up to one of the arched openings and clambered into the home of Redwall's Sparra.

He paused beyond the threshold to give his eyes a few moments to adjust. The day was bright and sunny outside, but the only source of illumination for Warbeak Loft was the eave openings, which Highwing now saw doubled as both doors and windows. Having just come out of the brilliant sunshine, the roofspaces seemed gloomy by comparison.

The home of the Sparra was a single long attic, its sloped ceiling peaked in the middle since it conformed to the outside of the Abbey's roof. There were no apparent walls or partitions; it seemed these birds lived communally in an open shared space, much as the wandering Guosim did, forsaking any private rooms or chambers. To Highwing, who had grown accustomed to having his own dormitory room, it was a very strange arrangement.

All along the outer walls, tucked into the sheltered spaces between eave openings, were the nests of the Sparra, woven tangles of twig and straw that served as each bird or family's small dwelling among the larger scheme of Warbeak Loft. Now, as his eyes grew accustomed to the muted lighting, Highwing could see that nearly every one of the nests was occupied, some by a single bird and others by small groups huddled together. Where the nests had grown too crowded, solitary Sparra sat on the wooden floorboards like forlorn outcasts. A few lay on their sides in unnatural positions, clearly very ill or already dead. There was very little activity, even from the nest-sitters who appeared fairly healthy. A dread stillness hung over the dim vault of Warbeak Loft, the oppressive hush of fear and death.

Many heads turned his way as Highwing stepped further into the loft space - some worried and questioning, others bleary-eyed and delirious. Highwing went over to one of the larger gatherings he could see, positioning himself so he could address several of the nest groupings at once.

"Who is in charge here?" he boomed out in his most authoritative voice.

None of the birds answered, but all who were coherent continued to stare fearfully at him.

"I know what sickness this is you have," he told them, raising his voice so that every Sparra in Warbeak Loft might hear him, "and I know how it can be cured. I am a Sparra of Redwall, and I have come to help you."

The only reply Highwing got was a harsh, raspy squawk from behind him that made him jump and spin around.

"No, youcome to die!" Another sparrow, a big and threatening male, had strode out into the Sparra court from a cleverly concealed chamber at one end of the attic space. Only a bird of high standing would be likely to have a private room of its own, and Highwing had a fairly good notion as to the identity of this one stalking towards him now.

"You one verrastupid birdworm, come here all byself," the newcomer cawed. "Me Grym Sparra, me rule all Sparra! Me throw you outta Loft when you just troublesome eggchick, now me throw you out again, and this time me killee you dead, dead!"

Highwing studied Grym with an appraising eye. The belligerent sparrow carried himself with the self-assurance of a bully on his home turf, but beyond his outward bravura were signs that he was not wholly unaffected by the fever. His eyes were rheumy and red-rimmed, his feathers trembled ever so slightly as an indication of suppressed shivers, and his gait betrayed a weakness that would only be evident to a trained joust-spar fighter. Highwing's playful matches with Montybank had sharpened his powers of observation so that none of this escaped his notice.

The Redwall Sparra hopped back toward the center of the attic floor, angling to put a little more distance between himself and Grym.

"Listen to me, Grym," he implored, "I don't care about what's gone on between us in the past. Whatever differences we have aren't important now. Your birds are dying, and you don't have the skills to save them. You must let me help you."

"You no givva orders here, groundworm!" Grym shouted, immune to Highwing's appeal. "You no Sparra, you no one a us! Me King of Sparra, me say you die now ... caaargh!"

Grym flew forward, talons outstretched toward Highwing. The fight to the death had begun.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Under the golden late-morning sun, a large assembly of Redwallers had gathered upon the east lawns, paws to brows and necks craned upward as they strove to make out any sign of activity from Warbeak Loft.

"I don't like this at all," Vanessa worried aloud to her friends. "Even if those Sparra are all too sick to cause Highwing any harm, he could still catch the fever from them. It was very foolish of him to fly up there like that."

"I tried to tell him that," said Alexander, "but he was gone before I could get three words out. You know how that bird of ours gets when an idea takes a hold of him."

"Yes, we know." Abbot Arlyn patted the young squirrel reassuringly on the back. "Nobeast is to blame in this; Highwing will do what he will do."

"Guess it's outta our paws now," Montybank said. "I shore do 'ope that li'l featherscamp's awright - I'm mighty fond of 'im."

"We all are," Geoff agreed. "I don't care if he calls me 'Pinky' every day from now until doomsday, as long as he makes it back down from there okay."

The Abbot turned to Alexander and the other squirrels. "You were speaking earlier of a plan ... "

Alex nodded. "Way I see it, we squirrels are the only ones who might be able to go to Highwing's aid. There's no way up to Warbeak Loft from inside the Abbey, so it would be impossible for any other creature to climb up there. We could, from the outside ... "

Vanessa's eyes went wide. "That would be a very dangerous feat."

Alex nodded. "Fortunately, the outside of the Abbey's got lots of intricate carvings and stonework which would provide plenty of good pawholds. It won't be easy, but I'm sure we could do it."

Arlyn nodded his assent. "Very well. If it's to be done, it must be done quickly, for every moment counts. Alexander, you may help organize the team who'll make the climb, but I don't want you or Barkpaw taking part in it; you're both still too weak from your bouts with the Greenwood Fever. The two of you will have to remain down here."

The two squirrels were devastated. "I'm recovered enough to do this!" Barkpaw protested.

"Me too!" Alex chimed in. "Besides, Highwing's my friend! I can't just stay here when he might need my help!"

"We're all Highwing's friends," the Abbot said firmly, "but I've made my decision. You won't do him any good if you place yourself in jeopardy too, when we have enough other able-bodied squirrels to get the job done. You and Barkpaw will stay down here, and that's an order."

Alex hung his head. "Yes, Father Abbot," he muttered.

Another of the squirrels, a big female by the name of Elmmarsh, put a companionly paw around Alexander. "Don't be so glum, we need a good head like yours down here with all the non-climbers. Now, let's get this expedition organized, double-quick! Highwing might need us, and time's a-wastin'!"

00000000000

Highwing was prepared for Grym's attack. His jousting matches with the otters had taught him important things about balance during a fight, and those lessons now came into play.

Grym struck Highwing in a move intended to drive him onto his back and pin him against the floor. Anticipating this, Highwing locked talons with the older Sparra and used Grym's momentum against him. Together they tumbled head over tailfeathers in the middle of Warbeak Loft, making several complete somersaults before Grym, realizing this would be no quick and easy victory, disengaged and rolled clear of Highwing, lest he end up pinned beneath his would-be victim.

Breathing heavily, Highwing stared down his foe. "Where are your bully friends?" he challenged Grym. "Are they all too sick to help you now?" He risked a quick glance at the nestfuls of birds off to either side; all eyes were upon the two combatants, but no other sparrow showed any sign of stirring to Grym's assistance.

"Grym Sparra no need help, me killee you myself!" The enemy bird danced forward as if to attack, causing Highwing to dodge to one side, but it was just a feint.

"Listen to me, and don't be a fool," Highwing said. "If you kill me, you could be condemning every Sparra here to death! You can't want that."

"Sparra proud, me proud, no take help from groundworm lowcrawlers!" And with that, Grym attacked again.

The raving, bloodthirsty sparrow had learned from their first tussle that Highwing was no helpless innocent, and altered his strategy accordingly. By the same token, Highwing knew it would not be so easy to misdirect Grym a second time, and sought to hop and dodge away. But the maddened Sparra leader was determined to press this attack until his adversary was slain. Lunging, flapping, raking and pecking, Grym harried Highwing across the Loft floor to one edge, toward the row of nests alternating with the eave openings and their perilous drop to the ground far below.

Highwing was only too aware of what Grym was attempting to do, and only too powerless to stop it, driven back by the onslaught of slashing beak and talon. He did not want to be forced back against the nests, not knowing which of these Sparra might leap to Grym's aid. The alternative was little better; no doubt Grym would relish the chance to cripple his enemy and then cast Highwing out of the Loft to a presumably fatal fall, just as he'd done in an earlier season.

It was all Highwing could do to keep his footing as he fended off Grym's relentless pursuit, knowing it might prove a lethal mistake to allow the larger sparrow to get fully on top of him. Backing away from Grym as he was, it was impossible for Highwing to watch where he was going. Suddenly, the smooth floor beneath his dancing talons gave way to an obstacle-course jumble of cluttered objects: buckets and small tools, craftworks and containers, pots and jars, and all manner of other miscellany - all things which the Sparra had foraged and pilfered from the Abbey grounds and the surrounding woodlands over the course of many seasons. The floorspace all around the nest areas was littered with such debris, the castoff and neglected mess of creatures who neither learned nor cared about storing their belongings in any sort of proper manner. Now Highwing stumbled upon the shattered half of an old split pail, and fell back onto his tailfeathers.

It was all the opening Grym needed. In the blink of an eye, the warlike sparrow was atop Highwing.

For all that Grym might have been suffering some of the effects of Greenwood Fever, he was still bigger and stronger than Highwing, and the younger sparrow found himself pinned to the floor with Grym standing fully on his chest. With his quarry thus trapped, Grym pecked savagely at his victim's face, striving to stab out Highwing's eyes. Highwing staved off the assault the only way he could - with his own bill - and for several furious moments the two beaks clacked loudly against each other like the angry parry-and-thrust of a quarterstaff duel.

Highwing lacked the strength to throw Grym off, but his talons were still relatively free ... and his short cloak stuck out from behind his head, not under his body. In an act of desperation, he reached up with one claw, undid the simple neck clasp, pulled the cloak free and cast it toward Grym's face.

The effect was like throwing a switch. Suddenly bereft of his vision, a bird's most vital sense, Grym froze like a statue, the green cape draped over his head. Taking advantage of this momentary lull, Highwing kicked hard at Grym's breast while flapping and bucking, and succeeded in tumbling his enemy off of him.

Being sent sprawling was enough to bring Grym back to his senses. Flinging aside the cloak, he turned once more to face his enemy.

But now the odds were evened, for in the moments that it took Grym to recover, Highwing had snatched up the long half of a broken rake handle which had lain amidst the clutter, and now stood reared back brandishing the pole in one talon. The young Sparra glared at his adversary venomously.

"If you've seen me practicing down on the lawns, you know what I can do with a piece of wood like this. Now, I've come here to help my fellow Sparra, and I'll not allow you to stop me. If you attack me again, I vow that I will slay you!"

This defiance only seemed to stir the belligerent sparrow to new heights of insane rage. "Grym Sparra rule here, not you! Your eggfather try'n'challenge me, me kill'im! Your eggmother make treasontalk against Grym, me kill'er too, then throw her eggchick outta Warbeak Loft! Now stupid, lopside, groundworm eggchick come back, so me kill you again, an' this time me kill you dead, dead!"

Highwing's beak fell open in stunned shock. So now he knew the reasons behind his savage banishment from his own kind ... and he also knew he had no mother or father here who might defend him. He was truly on his own.

These thoughts scarcely had time to register before Grym leapt at Highwing again ... and this time, the red fire of pure, unreasoning, killing hate blazed in his eyes.

00000000000

Elmmarsh had appointed herself the unspoken leader of the dozen-odd squirrels making the assault on Warbeak Loft. The team of climbers had cleared the final overhang and now marched along the spine of the very highest roofpeak, searching for a way into the Sparra court.

"Cripes, did anybeast here think to bring any rope?" Elmmarsh lamented; a silent chorus of shaken heads was the only reply she received. "Those eave openings are at the very top of a sheer wall, and the roof juts out over them. That's going to be pretty hairy, even for a squirrel. We'll have to lower ourselves over the edge one by one and try to swing ourselves through the openings into the attic. One slip, and it's a long way down to the lawns."

Several of her companions quailed visibly at this comment. One said, "Even if we had a rope, what good would it do us? There's nothing to tie it around, and no good purchase for one of us to hold it for the others."

"That's not entirely true." Elmmarsh pointed ahead of them. "We could have used the weathervane up there."

"Yeah, but are there any eave openings right under it? Wouldn't work if there aren't."

"It's all just prattle anyway," said Elmmarsh, "since we don't have a rope. Any of you fellas game for nipping back down and fetching one?"

No volunteers spoke up. The climb this far had been a most precarious one; with the wind whipping briskly around them at this height, it was a minor miracle that none of the rescuers had been lost. None of them wanted to have to make this climb a second time, especially encumbered by a heavy coil of rope.

"Thought not." She started haltingly down the sloping roof tiles, taking the lead toward the overhanging edge and the precipitous drop beyond. The others followed, and soon they were all gathered just above the row of eave entrances into Warbeak Loft.

A few of the ones in front got carefully down on all fours and poked their heads over the side, taking an upside-down survey of the loft openings below them. "Okay," Elmmarsh observed, "there's a good one just to my right. Who wants to go - oh, bloody fur!"

From within the darkened recesses of the portal just below her, Elmmarsh saw two feathered figures emerge, battling furiously at the threshold. Their struggles were too frenzied for even a squirrel's quick eye to follow. And then, as Elmmarsh watched in horror, one of the birds was forced out over the deadly edge and went into a tumbling, senseless plummet toward the ground far below. Obviously either already slain or rendered unconscious, the unfortunate creature made no move to spread its wings to halt its fatal plunge.

Elmmarsh bit hard at the inside of her cheek. There amidst the rapidly receding plumage was the unmistakable novice green of Highwing's cloak.

After what seemed an eternity of heart-stopped waiting, the falling sparrow smashed into the ground and lay still, its mangled wings and legs splayed out upon the greensward, the cape of a slightly different shade of green resting partway over its shattered body in a mockery of a burial shroud.

"Oh, rot!" cried the squirrel next to Elmmarsh. "We're too late - the blighters've got poor Highwing!"

"Too late to save our friend, maybe," Elmmarsh snarled through gritted teeth, "but we can avenge his murder. I didn't make this climb all the way up here for nothing; I say it's payback time! Who's up for wringing some scrawny feathered necks?"

Nearly every squirrel there gave an unhesitating shout of support for Elmmarsh's proposal.

"All right, then." She stuck her head over the roof's edge once more, spying out the doorways into Warbeak Loft. "No sign of any of the winged villains now - don't think they realize we're up here. Okay ... time to give those nastybirds a taste of their own medicine!"


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Elmmarsh was the first squirrel into the Loft, executing a daredevil leap through the portal as she hung from the roof edge by her forepaws. Landing roughly on the hardwood floor, she scuttled aside to make room for her companions who would follow, bracing herself to grapple with any enemy bird that might attack her.

All remained quiet and peaceful, except for the thump of the second squirrel landing alongside her. Just as Highwing had done, she needed a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the shadowy attic space after her rooftop excursion in the bright sunshine. Afraid she might be ambushed before her vision returned to normal, Elmmarsh stood with paws raised to greet the foebirds.

No attack came ... just a surprised and familiar voice out of the darkness:

"Hello! What in the name of fur and feathers are you bushtails doing here?"

Elmmarsh blinked hard at the dim figure standing before her. "Highwing? Is that you?"

"What other bird would it be?"

"But ... but we saw you fall down onto the lawns ... we thought ... "

"That was Grym." The young sparrow's tone was sorrowful. "He attacked me ... he wasn't going to let any outside creature help his ailing kinfolk if it undermined his authority. He was mad with power. I didn't come up here looking for a fight, but he really left me no choice."

A third squirrel leapt through the portal, nearly colliding with the second. Elmmarsh rushed to the opening and stuck her head out, waving frantically at her companions who were still up on the roof. "Don't send anymore down! Highwing's alive! Everything's fine in here, so don't any more of you risk that jump!"

Returning to Highwing, she said, "I don't understand. We saw your green cape; the bird who fell was wearing it ... "

"Not wearing it so much as tangled up in it," Highwing explained, "which was one of the things that tipped the fight in my favor. Another was all the days of practice with Monty and the otters. That skill saved my life. I'll tell you all the full tale of the battle once things have settled down a bit, but right now we have a lot of sick birds up here who need Vanessa's healing skill. We must act quickly, or more will die."

Elmmarsh let her gaze travel over all the occupied nests. "Are you sure none of these'll give you any more trouble? I seem to remember Grym had some cronies."

Highwing shook his head. "They had their chance to side with Grym during the fight, but they stayed out of it. Mostly they're too ill, but I also have the feeling that a lot of these Sparra are glad to see Grym gone. He was a tyrant, who ruled through terror and murder."

Highwing chose for the moment not to share his newfound knowledge that Grym had also killed his parents.

Elmmarsh rubbed thoughtfully at her chin. "Problem now is, how can we get these Sparrafolk treated? You can't expect Vanessa to climb up here, that trek's dangerous even for us squirrels. And the worst-off of these birds can't be in any shape to fly down to the Infirmary, even if they'd be willing to place themselves in our care."

"Not to worry," Highwing said cheerily, "I'll just have Vanessa brew up some of her remedy, and then I'll fly it up in small doses and make sure everybird takes what it needs. No trouble at all for a winged creature."

He strode over to the eave opening, looking out where the squirrels had swung into Warbeak Loft. Inspecting the impossible overhang, where several more faces peered down at him, he concluded, "The real question is how are you three going to get back down? It's far too hazardous for you to try to get back up on the roof this way, but there's no ladder in all of Mossflower tall enough to reach this height from the ground. Too bad squirrels can't fly; that would solve this little dilemma neatly."

"Aye, it would," agreed Elmmarsh. "Well, no reason we can't dwell up here awhile, so long as you fly us up some food an' drink along with the medicine. Mayhap we could even help you out, lend a paw with these sickbirds."

"That would be appreciated." Highwing stepped to the very edge of the drop and called up to the waiting squirrels on the roof, "The rest of you may as well head back down. I'm headed that way myself; see you all down there!" Spreading his wings, he launched himself into the air and spiraled earthward toward his many waiting friends.

00000000000

Evening's deep shadows lay over Redwall, but the twilight gloom was shattered by an ebullient cry.

"Yeeeeaaah!"

Tethered at the end of three long ropes tied together, Elmmarsh descended the west face of the main Abbey building like a giant furry spider playing out its web line as fast as it could go. Her mad, barely-controlled return to earth left her panting in exhilaration - and left more than one onlooker with paws over eyes.

"Weeee, that was fun!" Elmmarsh declared, untying the safety loop from around her waist. Immediately the rope was yanked skyward again so that the next waiting squirrel could make its descent.

"Really, Elmmarsh," chided Abbot Arlyn, "that was a bit much. I think that stunt just made some of the moles faint!"

"Well, it may be the only chance I'll ever get to rappel down from the roof of our fair Abbey, and I was certainly going to make the most of it!"

"That you certainly did," said Brother Trevor. "Gave us all quite a scare."

"Hah! Not half the scare you got, I'll wager, when good ol' Highwing sent that villainous Grym down your way with Highwing's cape flappin' 'round him!"

"Oh, that was a terrible fright!" agreed Vanessa.

"Aye, that it was," put in Montybank. "Luckily, Nessie 'n' me rushed over an' saw rightaways that it weren't our dear ol' matey who made that dent in our lawn with 'is body."

"Still, it was pretty horrible, watching any creature die that way," said Sister Grace, "even if it did deserve such an end."

Elmmarsh glanced around her. "What'd you do with the corpse?"

"Already taken care of," said Monty. "Buried 'im in th' meadow outside the south wall; no reason decent Redwallers should hafta share their 'ternal rest with th' likes o' that. Still, t'were prob'ly a more considerate sendoff from this world than 'ee would've got from 'is fellow bullies."

Sister Grace glanced skyward, squinting in the gloaming, then covered her eyes. "Oh, here comes the next squirrel! Ooo, I can't bear to look!"

"Yes," Elmmarsh nodded and grinned, "that rope Highwing flew up to us sure did the trick!"

Vanessa and the Abbot took her aside from the others. "How are things going up there, Elmmarsh?" Arlyn asked anxiously.

"Better than anybeast had any reason to expect," the squirrel replied. "Grym was as bad for those birds as any plague. Now that he's gone, it's like a shadow's been lifted from the Sparra of Redwall. Most of 'em seem truly glad to see Highwing, and are welcoming his help and ours."

"Well, that's a relief," said Vanessa. "After the risks Highwing took to aid them, it would have been a cruel twist of fate if they still refused his help."

"No chance of that, I can tell you," Elmmarsh said. "They're not mad, like Grym was. They know they're sick, and no sane creature would refuse a cure to what ails them. We've helped Highwing feed the first two batches of your medicine brew to the ones who were the worst off, Vanessa; I would almost swear they were looking better, just in the short time since they drank it this afternoon. I'll wager there won't be anymore deaths in Warbeak Loft this season ... at least not from Greenwood Fever."

"Nor from anything else, we can hope," said Abbot Arlyn. "Although, now that Grym's dead, there will have to be a new leader in Warbeak Loft ... and I'm afraid the Sparra can be less than civilized when it comes to such matters."

"Actually," Elmmarsh smiled knowingly, "that might not be as big a problem as you imagine. Ah, here comes Highwing now; I'll let him fill you in."

The young sparrow corkscrewed down through the twilight in his unmistakable spiral flight pattern, coming to land just as the second squirrel touched ground too. Highwing hopped one-legged over to Vanessa, passing to her the empty medicine pot he grasped in one talon.

"One more batch ought to do for today, Vanessa," he informed her. "Your broth's working wonders; I think we got to those Sparra just in time. Another day or two, and all the care in the world might not have made any difference."

Vanessa smiled broadly as she took the empty jar. "We make a good team. But I must say, those Sparra owe you the greater debt. No other Redwaller could have rid them of that no-good Grym, and delivered the cure to the fever up to them as well. Your name will be revered in Warbeak Loft for generations, just you see."

Highwing hung his head in embarrassment. "I'm afraid you may be right, more than you know. There's a rather strong-willed Sparra matron up there by the name of Tealbottom who's already taken charge of things in Grym's absence. All the other sparrows seem to defer to her. She's been of great assistance in convincing them to accept our help."

"Sounds like a sensible creature," Arlyn commented. "Do you suppose she'll become the new leader of the Sparra?"

"No, that's the thing," said Highwing. "She wants ME to be the new Sparra leader!"

"That's wonderful!" Vanessa clapped him on the back.

"Do you think you'll accept?" the Abbot asked.

Highwing shuffled his talons on the grass. "After getting a taste of Tealbottom's personality, I very much doubt she'd take no for an answer."

Montybank had wandered over to catch the tail end of the conversation; now he joined Vanessa in congratulating his Sparra friend. "See? I knew you was destined t'be royalty th' moment I saw you in that neat li'l cape o' yores! Let's hear it fer King Highwing! Hooray!"

Highwing actually blushed, if such a thing was possible for a bird. "Well, as I told Tealbottom, let's concentrate on healing all the sick Sparra. Then, once they're all well again, if they still want me as leader, we'll see ... "

"Phaw!" snorted Monty. "They'd hafta be daft not to ... and you'd be daft t' turn it down!"

"He's right, y'know," Elmmarsh seconded. "You're a natural leader if ever I saw one. Besides, if you take the rule of Warbeak Loft, we'll have to have a feast in your honor. Isn't that right, Abbot?"

Arlyn gave a smile that almost split his face in half. "Oh, most definitely!"

"See?" Elmmarsh nudged Highwing playfully. "It's official now. Can't deprive all these hungering Redwallers the chance for a feast, now, can we?"

Vanessa threw a paw around her sparrow friend's shoulders. "You've really come full circle, haven't you? From being an outcast babe, now you've cast out the tyrant who terrorized all your kind, and stand ready to take his place. Talk about poetic justice! Sometimes things really do turn out as they were meant to - all you have to do is give it a little time."

The Abbot nodded. "Time ... and friends."

"And Redwall," said Highwing. "I wouldn't be the bird I am today without having had the benefit of everything this Abbey has to offer. I can only hope, if I do become leader of the Sparra, I can continue to live up to the honored Redwall traditions."

"I'm sure you will," said Vanessa. "I know you will."

Elmmarsh glanced skyward once more. "Ah, here comes the last squirrel of us now. And so ends this little adventure. Sunset over the Western Plains was magnificent from up there; that's a sight I'll remember vividly for the rest of my days. Almost enough to make me want to climb up there again sometime to take in the view. But, since I don't have wings myself, it's not something I think I'll be tackling anytime soon. You're lucky, Highwing; you can enjoy that vista whenever you want, with just a few wingflaps."

"What can I say?" Highwing shrugged. "We can't all be lucky enough to be born a bird."


	15. Epilogue

Epilogue

And so, of course, there was a feast, and many more after that in the seasons that followed.

It was the Summer of the Whistling Pond Reeds, and one fine day Vanessa sat in her favorite spot at the edge of the orchard facing the clear pond, her back against a venerable apple tree whose cool shade had provided sweet summer relief for generations of Redwallers. Eyes closed to the merest of slits, she lay in the hazy bliss of half-wakefulness as the gentle breeze caressed her fur and set the leaves above dancing in a lazy rhythm that played dappled sunspots across her green habit.

Her peaceable repose was interrupted by the noisy flapping of wings and a sudden rush of air on her face. Vanessa sat up straighter and looked at Highwing, who'd settled onto the rich dark earth just in front of her. "Hello, there, Highwing."

"And hello to you, Abbess," the Sparra leader nodded.

Vanessa chuckled. "You never pass up the opportunity to call me that, do you?"

"And why should I? You've been Abbess for nearly a full season now."

"Yes, and I'm still getting used to it." Vanessa shook her head. "The idea of little me, being in charge of this entire Abbey ... it's even more daunting than when I became Infirmary keeper. Personally, I think old Arlyn appointed me just so he could spend all his time fishing!"

"It's our dear old ex-Abbot I've come here about," said Highwing. "He's been conspiring all day with Friar Hugh to prepare another feast."

"What? That'll be the third one this summer!"

"Yes, well, now that you've decided to make Monty the official Skipper of Redwall's otters, Arlyn thinks there ought to be a formal celebration. I can see his point, since the Skipper of all otters in Mossflower will be on paw for the event, and will no doubt bring many of his fellows ... with so many otters coming, there'd better be plenty of food at the ready!"

Vanessa blew out an exasperated sigh. "First there was that feast he organized when Geoff was made Abbey Recorder, and then the one for Alexander being named Chief of the Mossflower Patrol ... and that's not even counting Nameday! Well, I'm the Abbess now, and I'LL decide whether we'll be holding a feast!"

Highwing stood staring at her in silence for some moments. "So, will we?"

"Of course we will." Vanessa leaned back against the broad treetrunk, slitting her eyes once more and grinning mischieviously. "As sure as my habit is green, we'll be having a feast. But if Arlyn wants to do all the work of organizing it, that's fine by me. I'm sure he'll inform me when the time is right. In the meantime, I'll just sit here and continue to savor this splendid day nature has blessed us with. If anybeast needs me for anything, they know where to find me."

"Happy slumbers, then. I'll just be getting back to Warbeak Loft. Can't leave my feathered kinsfolk alone for too long, or they'll find something to start bickering over. I would swear that Sparra love to argue even more than shrews do!"

"Pity they never had your upbringing," Vanessa smirked.

"Maybe I'll send a flock of our eggchicks down to sit in on Pinky's classes, and learn how to be proper Redwallers."

"Geoff would just love that ... especially if they all start calling him 'Pinky!'"

"Perhaps not, then. Anyway, see you at the feast, my good Abbess." Highwing flapped away into the cloudless sky of blue. As Vanessa slipped back into her cozy reverie of semi-sleep, she could hear her Sparra friend singing with the unbridled joy of the day.

"O, the sun shines bright, not a cloud in sight,

I haven't got a fret or care at all.

My heart is light with the joy of flight

And the spirit of the home I call ... Redwall!"


End file.
